D 

0  ■ 
0  i 
O! 
9  \ 
7  I 
4  i 
2  I 
61 
01 


Uncle  Henry's  Ch-Ti  '^to^y 
of  His  0\m  life 


F 
621 

W18 
v.l 


Uncle  Henry's 
Own  Story 


BT 


HENRY  WALLACE 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 
of  His  Life 

PERSONAL  RExMlNlCENCES 


VOL.    1 


By 

HENRY  WALLACE 
Editor  Wallaces'  Farmer  1895-1916 


DES  MOINES,  IOWA 

The  Wallace  Publishing  Company 

1917 


Copyright  1917.    All  Rights  Reserrod. 


The  last  photo  of  Henry  Wallace,  taken  less  than  a  month  before  his  death.  It  shows  "Uncle 
Henry"  holding  his  first  great-grandchild,  Henry  Browne  Wallace,  then  about  four  and  one-half 
months  of  age.  In  the  center  is  his  son.  Henry  C.  Wallace,  and  at  the  left  is  hia  grandson,  Henry 
A.  Wallace.    Four  generations  of  oldest  sons. 


Contents 


Introduction    .... 

My  Childhood  Home    . 

What  We  Ate  in  the  Forties    . 

My  People  .... 

The  Old-Fash ioned  School 

Recreations  .... 

Sabbath  Keeping 

The  New  Barn    .... 

The  New  House 

Transportation    .... 

A  Scene  on  the  Turnpike 

How  My  Father  Farmed     . 

Doctors  and  Medicine 

INIanners  and  Customs  . 

A  Glimpse  of  the  Big  World    . 

The  Whisky  Rebellion 

My  First  Year  from  Home 

My  Second  Year  from  Home 

The  Small  College    . 

IMy  Third  Year  from  Home 

At  Jefferson  College 

Jefferson  College — The  Professors 

College  Societies  and  Fraternities 

The  Great  Revival  of  1858   . 


11 

13 
17 
22 
27 
34 
36 
41 
46 
51 
56 
59 
64 
69 
74 
79 
82 
87 
91 
97 
102 
108 
114 
118 


Introduction 

THESE  letters,  written  by  Henry  Wallace,  and  addressed  to 
his  great-grandchildren,  were  the  result  of  a  chance  sugges- 
tion made  some  years  ago.  Mr.  Wallace  had  lived  a  very 
full  and  eventful  life  during  a  most  wonderful  period  of  the  world's 
liistory.  Between  his  boyhood  and  old  age,  a  transformation  iiad 
been  wrought  in  the  methods  of  living  and  in  civilization  itself. 
Means  of  transportation  by  land,  sea  and  air  had  been  wholly 
changed.  The  world  had  emerged  from  a  period  of  hand  labor 
to  machine  labor,  with  a  revolution  in  the  lives  of  laboring  people. 
It  was  a  period  of  invention,  discovery  and  wonderful  progress  in 
transportation  and  science;  a  period  of  world-wide  evolution  in 
agriculture.  All  of  this  he  had  seen,  and  in  some  of  it  he  had 
played  a  very  important  part. 

It  was  suggested  to  him  that  the  ordinary  biography,  or  even 
autobiography,  fails  to  tell  the  things  that  people  most  like  to 
learn  about.  That  his  great-grandchildren,  for  example,  would 
be  intensely  interested  in  the  sort  of  life  he  lived  as  a  boy  and  a 
young  man.  They  would  like  to  know  about  the  things  in  which 
he  had  an  active  part,  and  in  which  ho  was  vitally  interosted.  They 
would  like  to  know  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  people  with 
whom  he  grew  up  and  lived.  Why  not,  as  he  had  leisure,  write  a 
series  of  intimate  letters  to  the  yoinig  folks,  who  probably  would 
be  coming  on  years  afterwards — the  sort  of  letters  that  would 
reveal  his  own  personality  as  no  biographer  could  do  it? 

The  suggestion  was  received  with  instant  favor,  and  very  short- 
ly afterwards  the  first  of  these  letters  was  written.  From  that 
beginning,  during  the  next  three  or  four  years,  as  the  spirit  moved 
him,  he  wrote  additional  letters,  the  last  one  but  a  few  months  be- 
fore his  death. 

We  have  felt  that  the  thousands  of  people  who  admired  and 
loved  Henry  Wallace  have  a  very  real  claim  to  share  these  letters 
with  the  great-grandchildren  to  whom  they  were  addressed;  and 
we  began  their  publication  in  Wallaces'  Farmer  in  the  autumn  of 
1916.  The  present  volume  contains  all  of  the  letters  published  up 
to  the  autumn  of  1917. 

Wallace  Publishing  Compaxy, 

Des  Moines,  Iowa. 


MY  Dear  Great-Grandchlldren :  At  this  writing,  none  of 
you  have  put  in  an  appearance  as  yet,  and  probably 
will  not  for  some  3'ears  to  come.  Nevertheless,  I  am 
morally  certain  that  you  will  appear  in  due  time.  [Uncle  Henry's 
first  great-grandchild,  a  boy,  appeared  September  18,  1915,  some 
five  years  after  this  letter  was  written.]  You  will  make  your  ap- 
pearance in  a  world  so  different  from  that  in  which  I  made  my 
appearance,  some  seventy-five  years  ago,  that  when  you  read  my 
description  of  my  world,  you  will  no  doubt  wonder  how  I  managed 
to  get  thru.  You  are  coming  into  a  world  that  has  railroads  and 
street  cars  and  telephones  and  telegraphs  and  automobiles  and 
flying  machines  and  Sunday  papers.  You  have  electric  lights  and 
gas,  bathrooms  and  sewage,  and  furnace  heat  of  various  kinds, 
pianos  and  piano-players,  and  rugs,  to  say  nothing  of  electric 
carpet  cleaners.  You  have  baby  carriages  that  fold  up,  dolls  that 
can  talk,  washing  machines  and  sewing  machines  run  by  electricity. 
Your  '.roning  is  done  by  an  electric  iron,  and,  for  all  I  know,  you 
may  be  having  all  your  cooking  done  by  electricity. 

When  I  Avas  born,  we  had  none  of  these  things ;  at  least  there 
were  none  in  our  neighborhood.  They  had  railroads  of  a  very  prim- 
itive sort  "down  east,"  and  also  steamboats  as  primitive.  I  never 
saw  a  railroad  till  I  was  twelve  years  of  age ;  never  rode  on  a  rail- 
road train  till  I  was  eighteen.  You  will  think  that  your  great-great- 
grandfather and  great-great-grandmothcr  lived  in  a  very  primitive 
way.  So  they  did ;  but  they  lived  happily  and  reared  a  large  family 
of  children,  none  of  whom  except  myself,  however,  lived  to  be  thirty. 


12  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

I  am  writing  these  letters  for  your  information,  that  you  may 
know  these  matters  in  detail ;  not  for  your  information  solely,  but 
because  I  wish  you  to  realize  that  you  would  not  have  had  the  com- 
forts you  have,  and  the  opportunities,  educational  and  otherwise, 
that  you  now  enjoy,  unless  the  people  who  lived  in  my  day  had 
faced  the  difficulties  and  endured  successfully  the  trials  and  hard- 
ships of  that  day ;  and  it  is  important  for  you  to  know  the  steps  by 
which  the  world  has  made  progress,  giving  you  the  advantages  and 
opportunities  which  you  now  enjoy. 

The  progress  of  civilization  has  been  slow  but  fairly  steady. 
Each  generation  is  apt  to  look  back  upon  the  past  one  as  slow,  old- 
fogyish  and  out  of  date,  forgetting  that  they  are  indebted  to  these 
seemingly  slow-going  people  for  the  privileges  they  themselves  en- 
joy. It  will  not  do  for  one  generation  to  put  on  airs  and  imagine 
that  they  are  the  only  people,  and  that  wisdom  will  die  with  them. 
We  owe  a  great  deal  to  our  fathers  and  mothers,  our  grandfathers 
and  grandmothers.  You  are  enjoying  luxuries  which  kings  and 
queens,  with  all  their  wealth  and  power,  could  not  possibly  have 
secured  two  hundred  years  ago. 

I  want  you  to  see  how  civilization  has  developed  slowly  but 
surely,  step  by  step,  thru  toil,  privation,  struggles,  victory  some- 
times, and  again  partial  defeat,  but,  on  the  whole,  making  a  grad- 
ual advance.  I  wish  you  to  realize  also  that  with  all  their  disad- 
vantages, people  were  just  about  as  happy  in  those  early  days  as 
you  are  now  or  ever  will  be ;  that  neither  education  nor  wealth  nor 
improvements  nor  comforts  nor  conveniences  can  change  to  any 
great  extent  the  fundamental  problems  of  existence ;  that  nothing 
blesses  except  right  living,  which  may  be  summed  up  in  faith  in  the 
Supreme  Being,  and  following  our  Savior's  rule  with  regard  to  our 
treatment  of  our  fellowmen.  In  short,  the  sum  of  all  human  duty, 
as  stated  by  Moses  thousands  of  years  ago :  "Thou  shalt  love  the 
Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  with  all  thy  soul  and  with  all 
thy  might,"  and  "Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself,"  applies 
alike  under  the  highest  civilization  and  under  the  most  primitive 
conditions.  (You  may  think  I  am  sermonizing.  So  I  am  ;  I  rather 
like  it.)  I  must  now  tell  you  something  about  the  life  of  my 
childhood. 

Your  great-grandfather, 

Hknry  Wallace. 


My  Childhood  Home 

IF  jou  will  take  a  map  of  Peiiiisylvania,  and  find  Pittsburgh,  at 
the  junction   of  the  Allegheny  and  Monongahela   rivers,  and 

then  follow  up  the  latter  to  its  junction  with  the  Youghiogheny 
river  (an  Indian  name,  pronounced  as  if  it  were  spelled  Yo-ho- 
gan'-ny);  then  follow  that,  you  will  find  West  Newton,  anciently 
called  Robb's  Town,  because  the  site  was  owned  by  a  man  named 
Robb.  When  the  whisky  rebellion  broke  out — of  which  I  may  tell 
you  more  hereafter — the  soldiers  burned  all  his  fences,  and  he  laid 
out  a  town  which  was  afterwards  called  West  Newton.  Well,  five 
miles  up  the  river  from  that  (and  a  very  crooked  river  it  is),  you 
will  find  a  station  called  Fitzhenry,  which  in  my  boyhood,  before 
the  railroad  came,  was  called  Port  Royal;  and  a  mile  from  there, 
out  in  the  country  toward  West  Newton,  was  my  father's  home  and 
farm — three  miles  from  the  latter  place  if  you  rode  or  drove ;  two 
if  you  walked. 

It  was  at  first  an  exceedingly  heavily  timbered  country — ^white 
oak,  sugar  trees,  black  walnut ;  but  my  great-grandfather  or  his 
brother — I  don't  know  which — came  out  there  about  the  time  of  the 
Revolutionary  War,  and  with  an  ax  chipped  the  bark  off  a  num- 
ber of  trees  surrounding  the  land  he  wanted  to  occupy,  and  thus 
became  the  owner  of  the  farm  or  farms.  A  very  crooked  outline  it 
was.  As  I  recollect  it,  there  were  thirteen  corners  to  the  part  my 
father  afterwards  owned — for  the  old  fellow  wanted  just  about  all 
the  kinds  of  land  there  were  in  that  county.  There  was  some  sugar 
tree  land  on  the  north  side  of  the  farm ;  some  limestone  land,  whicn 
grew  great  white  oaks,  in  the  middle:  and  then  some  rich  bottom 
land  as  well.  They  had  a  funny  way  of  describing  lands  in  those 
days.  The  deed  would  run  something  like  this  :  Beginning  at  the 
white  oak,  running  so  many  rods  north  and  so  many  west  to  a 
black-jack,  then  changing  the  direction  and  going  on  to  a  sugar 
tree,  and  so  on  around  until  the  place  of  beginning,  adjoining  the 
lands  of  so-and-so. 

Each  farm  had  a  name.     For  example,  my  father's  farm  was 


u 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 


Ross  Home,  Built  in  1805,  Girlhood  Home  of  Uncle  Henry's  Mother. 


called  Spring  Mount,  because  there  was  a  spring  where  he  built 
his  house.  My  grandfather's  farm  w^as  named  Finleyville,  because 
he  married  a  daughter  of  "old  man  Finley,"  who  entered  the  land, 
comprising  both  farms.  In  taking  up  land  in  this  wa}',  some  strips 
were  missed.  We  had  a  neighbor  who  entered  a  piece  of  land  thus 
missed,  belonging  to  the  state  of  Pennsylvania,  not  to  the  national 
government.  It  was  a  long  piece  along  the  Youghiogheny  river, 
which  we  called  the  River  Hill,  perhaps  eighty  rods  long,  and  con- 
taining fifteen  acres.  The  man  who  entered  it  was  one  Jacob  Budd, 
who  gave  it  the  name  of  "Jacob  Budd's  Bag  String — All  Hill  and 
No  Hollow." 

The  houses  and  barns  were  mostly  built  of  logs,  altho  in  my 
childhood  they  had  begun  to  build  the  former  of  brick  and  stone. 
The  house  in  which  I  was  born  was  of  logs,  I  remember  it  well, 
and  I  date  a  number  of  the  events  of  my  childhood  from  that  old 
house.  It  was  torn  down  in  1847,  the  year  in  which  my  grand- 
father and  grandmother  died,  shortly  after  their  home,  on  the  next 
farm,  w-as  struck  by  lightning.  I  was  then  eleven  years  old.  I  have 
associated  the  earlier  events  with  the  old  house.  So  that  everything 
I  mention  as  occurring  in  that  house,  occurred  before  I  was  eleven 
years  old ;  and  after-events  were  associated  with  the  new  house, 
which  was  built  in  that  year. 

This  old  house  was  built  of  logs  hewed  on  two  sides,  and,  as  we 
said  chinked  and  daubed.  The  chinks,  that  is,  pieces  of  wood,  were 
put  in  where  the  logs  did  not  fit,  on  the  two  unhewn  sides,  and  then 


Uncle  Honry's  Own   Story  15 

it  was  daubed  with  yellow  clay,  wet  and  tramped  so  as  to  make  a 
very  stiff  mortar.  This  house  was  32x34  feet,  with  a  hallway  thru 
it  from  cast  to  west.  It  was  two  stories  high,  with  the  stairway  at 
the  west  end  of  the  hall,  thus  narrowing  the  hall,  which  ended  in  a 
small  porch  on  the  west  side  and  a  larger  porch  on  the  east.  On  the 
north  were  two  bedrooms — one  for  visitors,  the  other  for  father  and 
mother. 

The  part  of  the  house  that  interested  me  was  the  kitchen  and 
living-room,  and  what  interested  me  most  was  the  chimney.  It  be- 
gan at  one  corner,  widened  out  about  one-third  of  the  way  at  one 
end,  then  retraced  the  width  a  third,  and  then  tapered  off  to  the 
other  corner,  being  about  five  feet  deep  in  the  middle.  In  this  were 
two  great  fireplaces,  one  in  the  kitchen  and  one  in  the  living-room, 
each  of  which  would  take  in  a  log  about  four  feet  long.  This  chim- 
ney was  built  of  stones  picked  up  over  the  place,  what  you  would 
call  boulders ;  and  the  mortar  was  apparently  the  same  yellow  clay 
mentioned  before. 

In  the  kitchen  chimney  was  a  crane,  on  which  pots  were  hung, 
for  my  mother  did  her  cooking  over  this  fire.  There  were  no  fur- 
naces, no  hot-water  systems,  no  steam,  no  stoves.  I  remember  my 
excitement  when  I  heard  that  my  father  had  gone  to  the  store  to 
buy  a  cook  stove.  I  did  not  know  what  a  cook  stove  looked  like ; 
but  I  expected  to  see  him  coming  up  the  lane  carrying  it,  and  was 
surprised  to  find  that  he  had  to  bring  it  in  the  wagon. 

We  children  slept  upstairs,  for  one  of  the  downstairs  bedrooms 
must  be  the  "spare"  room  for  the  preacher  or  friends  who  might 
come.  There  was  no  heat  in  that  room  of  ours,  and  on  a  cold  morn- 
ing we  thought  it  a  great  luxury  to  gather  up  our  clothes  and  scoot 
down  and  dress  by  that  great  big,  roaring  hickory  fire  in  the  living- 
room  ;  and  you  may  be  sure  we  had  good  appetites  when  we  went 
out  into  the  kitchen  for  breakfast.  As  I  remember  it,  there  were  no 
carpets  when  I  was  little;  afterwards  there  was  a  rag  carpet  in  the 
bedroom. 

There  was  a  clock,  the  kind  you  know  as  "grandfather's  clock." 
A  very  leisurely  old  clock  it  was.  It  ticked  very  slowly,  quite  dif- 
ferently from  the  Seth  Thomas  clock  which  my  father  purchased — 
I  presume  when  I  was  about  eight  years  of  age — for  which  he  paid 
fourteen  dollars,  and  which  can  now  be  bought  for  three  or  four. 
The  surprising  thing  was  that  the  same  peddler  sold  exactly  the 
same  kind  of  a  clock  to  one  of  our  neighbors  for  twenty-one  dollars, 
and  to  another  for  twenty-eight.  These  two  afterwards  regarded 
him  as  a  great  cheat,  while  my  father  congratulated  hin)self  on 
getting  a  great  bargain. 


ig  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

We  tore  the  chimney  out  of  this  old  house  in  1847,  and  used  the 
stone  for  the  foundation  of  the  new  house ;  and  I  remember  that  the 
table  for  the  hands  who  were  building  the  new  house  was  set  where 
the  old  chimney  had  been,  and  it  seated  about  twelve  or  fifteen 
people.  So  you  may  know  it  was  something  of  a  chimney,  and  you 
will  not  be  surprised  at  my  being  greatly  interested  in  it.  My  father 
had  me  help  to  wheel  the  plaster  out  of  this  chimney  into  a  rather 
low  place  on  one  side  of  the  large  yard,  and  I  was  surprised  to  find 
that  in  the  course  of  a  year  this  pile  of  mortar  was  covered  over  as 
thick — as  we  used  to  say — as  the  hair  on  a  dog's  back,  with  ground 
ivy,  the  same  plants  that  ladies  use  in  their  hanging  baskets,  but  a 
most  vile  weed  on  the  farm.  It  will  be  a  vile  weed  on  rich  land  in 
the  west,  if  farmers  are  not  careful.  The  only  way  I  have  ever  been 
able  to  account  for  this — as  the  weed  did  not  grow  on  the  drier  land 
on  which  the  house  was  built — was  that  this  weed  seed  had  remained 
in  the  mortar  for  the  sixty  years  in  which  that  chimney  stood,  and 
then  grew  when  the  moisture,  the  heat  and  the  air  were  all  supplied. 
"  The  mortar  was  evidently  made  from  the  clay  subsoil  of  the  bottom 
part  of  the  farm,  where  this  weed  was  always  a  great  pest. 

The  furnishings  in  this  house  were  very  simple.  The  plain  chairs 
were  home-made  and  unpainted,  some  of  them  with  splint  bottoms, 
that  is,  bottoms  woven  by  taking  splints  of  hickory  and  weaving 
them  in  the  desired  shape  and  size.  These  were  exceedingly  com- 
fortable, and  I  find  nn'self  wishing  I  had  one  of  them  now.  The 
cradle  in  which  the  nine  of  us  were  all  rocked  was  a  very  primitive 
affair  of  oak — home-made.  When  the  later  children  were  born, 
and  I  had  to  rock  the  cradle,  I  used  to  think  the  rockers  were  worn ; 
but  it  was  probably  the  unevenness  of  the  floor.  I  am  very  sorry 
that  the  cradle  was  sold  at  my  father's  sale,  man}"  years  after- 
wards, and  if  I  can  find  out,  on  one  of  my  trips  east,,  who  has  it,  I 
shall  certainly  buy  it,  so  that  you  children  may  see  what  kind  of 
a  cradle  your  great-grandfather  was  rocked  to  sleep  in. 

We  had  no  fly-screens  in  those  days,  no  netting  or  screen  doors, 
and  my  mother  used  to  cut  strips  of  paper  and  fasten  them  around 
above  the  windows  and  the  fireplace.  I  don't  know  what  it  was 
for,  unless  to  make  a  roosting-place  for  the  flies,  or  perhaps  for 
ornament.  There  was  no  canned  fruit  in  those  days,  but  we  had 
dried  fruit  in  plenty.  It  was  run  on  threads  and  hung  up  around 
the  fireplace,  and  in  time  ornamented  with  fly-specks.  It  is  small 
wonder  that  consumption  was  common  in  that  section,  for  the  fly 
did  not  wipe  his  feet  then  any  more  than  he  does  now.  The  corn 
and  apples  were  dried  out-of-doors. 


What  We  Ate  in  the  Forties 

You  may  wonder  how  we  lived  in  the  forties.  Fine ;  quite  as  well 
as  you  do,  altho  we  did  not  have  so  many  fancy  things  in  that 
old  house.  We  had  elegant  cream  from  the  spring-house.  I 
must  tell  you  about  that  spring  and  spring-house.  In  that  part  of 
the  country,  houses  were  built  near  springs.  The  cattle,  as  they 
roamed  thru  the  woods,  knew  where  the  springs  were,  and  made 
paths  to  them ;  and,  naturally,  when  the  roads  were  laid  out,  they 
followed  the  cow-paths.  A  spring  came  out  of  a  ledge  of  rock 
about  twenty  feet  lower  than  our  house.  Hence,  all  the  water  for 
drinking  purposes  or  use  in  the  house  had  to  be  carried  in  buckets 
uphill  from  that  spring.  There  was  a  log  spring-house  there,  and 
the  water  passed  from  the  spring  into  this  spring-house,  then  thru 
broad  stone  troughs  in  which  the  shallow  milk  crocks  were  set  and 
covered  Avith  board  covers,  into  the  horse  trough  on  the  south  side. 
The  cream  was  skimmed  off,  and  put  in  another  crock,  and  set  back 
in  the  water.  (^ly!  how  thick  that  cream  was — almost  like  pan- 
cakes.) So.  when  we  came  to  the  table,  wc  had  milk  such  as  you  do 
not  get  from  the  creamery,  and  cream  that  was  cream — cream  that 
made  the  coffee  taste  just  right.  The  coffee  was  bought  by  the 
sack,  green,  and  then  roasted  in  a  skillet,  as  I  happen  to  know,  be- 
cause I  used  to  have  to  stir  it.  So  there  was  no  adulterated  coffee, 
nor  blue  milk,  nor  milk  mas(juerading  as  cream  at  our  house. 

Then  wc  had  ham  and  breakfast  bacon,  tho  we  did  not  call  it 
that ;  spare-ribs  and  sausage,  home-made ;  none  of  your  half  beef 
and  half  pork,  but  genuine  pork  sausage,  seasoned  according  to 
mother's  taste,  with  garden  herbs  picked  green  and  carefully  dried, 
for  she  always  saw  to  that.  In  the  winter  we  had  beef,  and  always 
first-class  bread — not  the  bread  that  the  baker  furnishes,  nor  the 
bread  that  you  bake  in  the  range  oven,  but  bread  baked  in  the  out- 
oven.  This  oven  had  a  brick  foundation  ;  and  the  top  was  made  of 
mortar,  not  from  lime  and  sand,  but  of  clay,  with  cut  straw,  and 
tramped  until  you  could  mold  it  like  potter's  clay.      This  oven  was 


18 


Un'^le  Henry's  Own   Storj' 


Henry  Wallace,  in  His  Study,  1914,  Dictating  From  Personal  Memo- 
randa the  Letters  to  His  Great-grand  Children. 


heated  up  with  what  we  called  oven-wood,  or  dry  old  rails  split  up, 
until  the  whole  oven  was  hot.  ^Mother  knew  by  putting  in  her  hand 
when  it  was  right.  Then  the  coals  were  all  raked  out,  and  the 
bread  put  in  after  it  was  properly  raised.  When  the  bread  was 
done  to  a  turn,  it  was  taken  out,  and  the  pies  and  cakes  and  tarts 
put  in.      We  had  good  feeding  at  all  times. 

In  the  winter  we  had  buckwheat  cakes  and  maple  syrup  and 
fried  mush.  The  mush  was  made  of  corn  that  was  picked  just  after 
it  had  glazed ;  then  kiln  dried  in  the  oven  after  the  pies  were  taken 


Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story  19 

out ;  then  ground  at  a  neighboring  mill.  The  pot  was  put  on  in  the 
fireplace  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  corn  meal,  after  being  properly 
sifted,  was  put  in  little  by  little,  stirring  all  the  time.  Often  I  had 
to  do  the  stirring,  and  was  not  allowed  to  quit  until  it  had  a  certain 
consistency',  shown  by  the  way  the  bubbles  came — just  right — 
slowly  and  with  difficulty,  each  bubble  finally  emitting  a  jet  of 
steam.  We  usually  had  this  mush  for  supper.  Mbther  said  it  made 
us  sleep  well.  Then  the  next  morning  we  had  fried  mush.  I  wish  I 
could  get  such  fried  mush  now !  With  maple  syrup  and  our  good 
butter,  it  was  a  breakfast  fit  for  a  kin^. 

Altho  we  did  not  have  canned  fruit,  we  had  many  kinds  of  pre- 
served fruit.  When  my  great-grandfather  or  his  brother  entered 
on  the  farm,  along  about  1780,  or  nearly  sixty  years  before  I  was 
born,  one  of  the  first  things  he  did  after  the  land  was  cleared  and 
the  logs  burned,  was  to  plant  out  an  orchard.  These  trees  were  all 
seedlings,  and  hence  in  the  whole  orchard  there  were  no  two  of  a 
kind.  They  were  mostly  summer  and  fall  apples,  some  sweet ;  and 
I  remember  one  tree  on  which  the  apples  were  so  sour  that  we  called 
them  "vinegar"  apples.  In  those  early  years  there  was  a  famine  of 
winter  apples  with  us,  and  for  two  reasons :  First,  there  were  not 
many  of  them,  and,  second,  we  had  no  cellar.  Hence,  the  apples 
had  to  be  kept  in  pits,  and  it  was  not  safe  to  open  the  pit  until 
about  March.  Fortunately,  we  had  one  tree  which  we  called  the 
winter  apple  tree,  the  fruit  of  which  was  not  fit  to  eat  until  about 
that  time,  and  it  kept  splendidly  up  until  corn  planting  time. 

We  usually  loaded  up  a  wagon  with  apples  along  in  the  fall, 
took  them  to  a  neighbor's,  who  had  a  cider  mill,  and  had  them  made 
into  cider  on  the  shares.  Then  there  was  usually  a  gathering  of 
the  neighbors  for  what  was  called  an  apple-butter  boiling.  The 
girls  pared  the  apples,  and  the  boys  came  in  the  evening  to  make 
the  apple  butter.  It  was  not  such  apple  butter  as  you  folks  buy, 
but  the  genuine  old-fashioned  sort,  made  with  cider  and  the  best 
apples.  It  kept  all  winter,  and  we  could  have  all  we  wanted.  It 
took  a  lot  of  stirring  to  keep  that  apple  butter  from  scorching. 

Then  we  had  peaches — some  early  and  some  late;  but  unless  a 
frost  killed  them,  there  were  plenty  of  them.  There  were  pears 
also,  some  of  the  trees  dating  back  to  the  first  opening  of  the  coun- 
try, some  sixty  years.  Some  of  these  pear  trees  are  no  doubt  living 
yet.  Some  I  know  lived  until  they  were  over  a  hundred  years  old. 
We  had  a  pear  on  our  place  that  was  called  the  choke-pear,  because 
it  was  not  very  good  to  eat,  and  when  we  tried  to  swallow  a  bite, 
there  was  a  sort  of  choking  sensation.      Still,  if  we  gathered  up 


20  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

these  pears  and  hid  them  away  in  the  hay-mow  for  about  a  month, 
they  were  pretty  fair  eating. 

We  had  plums,  too,  and  quinces ;  not  such  green-looking  truck 
as  you  buy  in  the  stores  in  the  west,  but  great,  big,  yellow  fellows, 
as  hard  as  a  rock.  If  you  folks  have  never  eaten  preserves  made  of 
this  sort  of  quinces,  you  have  missed  something  out  of  your  lives 
for  which  an  automobile  ride  will  not  make  up.  Then  we  had 
blackberries.  We  did  not  buy  them  by  the  quart,  as  you  do,  in 
boxes  that  do  not  hold  a  quart,  and  that  are  hauled  hundreds  of 
miles.  In  fact,  we  did  not  buy  them  at  all,  but  just  took  a  bucket 
and  went  to  the  blackberry  thicket  and  gathered  all  we  wanted — a 
whole  bucketful.  We  youngsters  were  wise  in  the  way  of  picking 
blackberries.  We  did  not  take  the  sort  that  grow  on  the  tall  canes, 
but  another  sort,  which  I  have  never  found  since — black,  juicy  fel- 
lows, that  grew  on  a  medium-sized  bush,  and  seemed  to  prefer  shade. 
They  just  melted  in  the  mouth.    O,  my ! 

Our  farm  was  not  suited  to  watermelons  ;  but  we  grew  musk- 
melons  and  sweet  potatoes.  ]\Iy  mouth  waters  yet  when  I  think  of 
those  sweet  potatoes,  just  before  they  were  ripe,  boiled,  and  then 
covered  over  with  chicken  gravy.  After  we  moved  into  the  new 
house,  the  neighbors  used  to  come  in  after  supper,  and  about  ten 
o'clock  they  would  have  a  good  meal,  the  children  having  been  sent 
to  bed.  We  older  children  used  to  lie  awake  till  the  folks  had  gone 
into  the  parlor,  and  then  slip  down  and  eat  what  was  left — some- 
times not  much,  to  our  great  grief  and  disappointment. 

Not  knowing  anything  about  canning  fruit,  my  mother  used  to 
make  jellies  and  jams  and  preserves  and  butters.  When  company 
came,  there  would  be  a  half  a  dozen  different  kinds  set  out  on  the 
table,  of  which  everyone  must  taste,  and  always  with  good,  thick 
cream.  If  you  imagine  for  a  moment  that  we  did  not  live  just  as 
well  in  those  days  as  you  do  now,  you  are  greatly  mistaken. 

Everything  was  cheap.  I  remember  hoAv,  before  my  grand- 
mother died,  she  hired  me  one  summer  to  carry  her  eggs  to  the 
store,  promising  me  "something  nice"  in  the  fall.  I  remember  they 
were  only  six  cents  a  dozen ;  and  one  of  my  early  disappointments 
grew  out  of  that  contract  with  my  grandmother.  When  I  took  down 
the  last  basket  of  eggs,  and  went  after  my  reward,  my  heart  was 
set  on  a  four-bladed  pen-knife,  of  which  the  price  was  thirty-five 
cents.  My  grandmother  thought  it  was  altogether  too  much,  and 
what  she  gave  me  was  a  one-bladed  Barlow,  which  cost  either  eight 
or  ten  cents — I  don't  remember  which — but  I  know  I  thought  it 
rather  mean  of  her.  I  never  liked  my  grandmother  so  well  after- 
wards ;  but  after  she  died,  I  magnanimously  forgave  her. 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  21 

I  forgot  to  speak  of  our  cherries.  We  had  plenty  of  them — 
fourteen  trees,  as  I  remember — big  trees,  as  big  around  as  the  body 
of  an  eighteen-year-old  boy;  trees  that  you  could  climb  into,  climb 
up  near  the  top  and  reach  out  to  get  the  last  ripe  cherries ;  big, 
black  cherries,  which  we  thought  better  than  all  the  rest,  because 
there  would  be  no  more  till  the  next  year;  cherj-ies  that  the  wood- 
peckers and  robins  had  left.  As  we  could  not  use  the  fruit  of  four- 
teen cherry  trees,  my  father  had  half  of  them  cut  down,  and  still  we 
had  cherries  for  ourselves  and  cherries  for  the  neighbors  who  would 
undertake  to  pick  them  on  the  shares.  Sometimes  mother  thought 
they  did  not  give  her  a  square  deal. 

Then  there  was  a  berry  which  I  have  not  tasted  since  boyhood 
— the  dewberry — which  grew  wild  in  that  section,  especially  on  the 
thinner  soils.  They  were  luscious  fellow^s,  few  on  a  bush,  and 
happy  was  the  boy  who  found  them.  We  had  another  wild  fruit — 
the  mulberry;  not  the  little  Russian  mulberry  that  we  have  in  the 
west,  but  quite  a  different  sort.  It  grew  into  a  tree  of  considerable 
size ;  the  timber  was  a  favorite  wood  for  making  the  old-fashioned 
up-and-down  churn,  exercise  on  which  was  the  bane  of  the  small 
boy's  existence.  Like  all  the  other  fruits,  they  were  seedlings,  and 
varied  greatly.  Some  were  small  and  rather  hard ;  others  were  long 
and  fine  in  flavor,  in  fact,  delicious.  Of  course,  every  boy  had  his 
favorite  among  the  mulberry  trees,  which  grew  here  and  there  on 
almost  every  farm. 


My  People 


MY  father,  John  Wallace,  was  a  Scotch-Irishman,  or  an 
Ulster-Scott,  as  the  Scotchmen  who  moved  over  into  the 
north  of  Ireland  are  sometimes  called.  He  was  born  in  the 
County  Antrim,  in  Ireland,  in  1805,  and  came  to  this  country  in 
1832,  about  four  years  before  I  was  born.  The  family  had 
migrated  from  the  ancestral  home  in  County  Ayrshire,  Scotland, 
about  1680. 

I  wish  I  could  describe  my  father  so  that  you  could  see  him  as 
I  remember  him — now  dead  for  forty  years.  He  was  just  my 
height  (scant  six  feet),  and  of  the  same  build.  His  plug  hat,  when 
fitted  to  his  head  by  a  hatter,  exactly  fitted  my  head.  When  I  was 
grown,  I  could  wear  his  boots.  I  judge  that  we  weighed  about  the 
same  at  the  same  age.  He  never  reached  my  present  weight  of 
nearly  two  hundred.  His  matured  weight  was  about  175.  He  was 
dark  complexioned.  In  his  youth,  his  hair  was  almost  jet  black, 
and  very  thick,  but  it  turned  gray  early,  and  was  quite  thin  when  I 
was  a  young  man.  He  shaved  his  upper  lip  and  his  cheeks,  and  let 
the  rest  of  his  beard  grow.  His  nose  was  very  prominent.  His 
countenance  was  rather  stern,  except  when  listening  to  or  telling  a 
good  story.  His  eyes  were  gray.  When  pleased,  they  beamed 
in  a  way  that  made  one  happy  all  over ;  but  when  displeased,  they 
bored  into  one  as  tho  they  would  bring  to  light  every  secret 
thought.  He  ruled  his  family  with  those  eyes.  He  never  really 
whipped  any  of  us,  but  had  a  trick  of  tapping  our  ears  with  the 
tips  of  his  fingers. 

He  was  very  quiet;  thought  a  great  deal,  but  said  little,  often 
giving  his  conclusions  without  giving  his  reasons.  His  eyes,  rather 
than  his  tongue,  told  us  how  much  he  loved  us.  He  had  a  fairly 
well  developed  sense  of  humor.  He  enjoyed  a  good,  clean  story 
and  a  good  laugh,  which  shook  his  frame  at  the  beginning,  ending 
in  a  wreath  of  sm.iles  gradually  groAving  fainter,  as  tho  he  regretted 
to  part  with  the  pleasurable  sensation. 


Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story 


23 


John  Wallace,  Father  of  Henry  Wallace. 


Martha  Ross  Wallace,  Mother  of  Henry  Wallace 


He  was  deeply  religious,  but  said  little  about  it.  He  was  very 
orthodox  in  his  belief,  but  wonderfully  tolerant  in  practice.  I 
never  heard  him  pray  except  with  the  family.  I  never  heard  of 
him  making  a  speech,  and  I  think  he  never  wrote  anything  for  pub- 
lication;  but  he  was  a  man  of  commanding  influence  in  the  com- 
munity. He  was  so  generally  recognized  as  being  upright  and 
honest  and  fair-minded,  that  he  became  a  sort  of  oracle  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  the  neighbors  came  to  him  for  advice,  and  some- 
times for  the  settlement  of  disputes  and  difficulties.  He  never  vol- 
unteered advice  unasked.  He  had  a  horror  of  debt.  ^ly  father 
sometimes  speculated,  but  when  he  did  he  always  bought  whatever 
he  was  dealing  in,  and  paid  for  it,  so  it  was  really  more  investing 
than  speculating. 

Taking  into  account  the  circumstances  and  conditions,  I  think 
I  never  knew  a  better  farmer.  He  bought  a  farm  of  which  the 
cleared  part  was  badly  run  down,  and  which  needed  drainage.  He 
redeemed  it  by  the  use  of  lime  and  clover  and  feeding  live  stock. 
I  think  he  was  the  first  man  west  of  the  Allegheny  mountains  to  use 
tile.      I  will  tell  more  about  his  farming  in  later  letters. 

He  was  never  very  rugged  in  health,  due,  so  my  mother  told  me, 
to  a  sunstroke  in  his  early  years,  and  to  an  injury  which  he  in- 


Jii  Uncle  Henrj's  Own   Story 

curred  in  wrestling  when  a  boy  in  Ireland.  His  later  years  were 
full  of  sorrow.  In  the  last  nine  years  of  his  life  there  never  was  a 
da}'  when  some  member  of  the  family  was  not  suffering  from  a  dis- 
ease from  which  all  knew  he  could  not  recover.  As  one  after  an- 
other was  carried  to  the  grave,  my  father's  health  and  spirit  failed 
him,  and  he  died  in  his  sixty-seventh  year,  apparently  from  a  gen- 
ci'al  breakdown. 

My  mother  was  a  Ross  (Martha),  and  was  born  on  an  adjoin- 
ing farm.  She  must  have  been  vcy  beautiful  when  young.  She 
ruled  my  father  completely,  but  the  good  man  never  suspected  it. 
She  knew  how  to  humor  him  when  he  needed  humoring,  and  how 
to  intercede  for  the  children  when  they  bad  offended.  I  never  heard 
in  all  my  life  a  word  of  dispute  or  difference  between  my  father  and 
mother;  and  this,  as  you  will  find  out  after  a  while,  can  be  truth- 
fully said  of  verv  few  couples.  She  habitually  looked  on  the  bright 
side  of  things,  which  I  think  is  one  reason  why  she  was  such  an  ex- 
cellent mate  for  my  father,  whose  habit  of  concentration  of  mind 
led  him  to  take  not  exactly  a  somber  view  of  things,  but  often  a 
more  serious  view  than  the  circumstances  warranted. 

My  mother  w^s  a  very  devout  woman.  She  always  attended 
church,  and  saw  to  it  that  we  attended,  and  that  we  learned  our 
Catechism  and  many  of  the  Psalms.  I  remember  trying  to  fool  her 
by  repeating  a  short  one  which  I  had  learned  once  before,  but  she 
detected  me  in  it.  ^  She  caught  me  in  a  good  many  scrapes  of  one 
kind  and  another,  mostly  trifling  things,  but  I  always  had  a  good 
excuse  to  offer,  in  the  main  true.  She  said  one  day  that  I  had  such 
a  knack  of  getting  out  of  things,  that  she  thought  I  had  better  be  a 
lawyer.  She  had  a  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  and  a  certain 
amount  of  Irish  blarney.  Her  life  was  cheerful  and  happy,  consid- 
ering the  sorrow  of  burying  all  her  children  but  two.  Her  ability 
to  sec  the  funny  side,  and  her  optimism,  enabled  her  to  endure 
things  which  crushed  the  life  out  of  my  father. 

My  Grandfather  Ross  was  also  a  Scotch-Irishman,  and  from 
the  same  section  of  Ireland  as  my  father.  I  do  not  remember  much 
about  him,  as  he  died  when  I  was  but  eleven  years  old.  I  remember 
more  about  my  Grandmother  Ross.  She  was  twenty  years  younger 
than  her  husband.  What  interested  me  most  in  her  were  the 
stories  she  used  to  tell  about  Indians  when  I  was  a  little  chap,  about 
blockades  and  forts,  and  the  whisky  rebellion.  She  used  to  tell 
ftbout  her  father,  a  Finley,  who  came  over  the  mountains,  and  how 
everything  had  to  be  carried  over  in  pack-saddles,  as  there  were  no 
roads  then — only  trails ;  and  how  people  lived  in  those  days,  when 
ivestern  Pennsylvania  was  a  great  forest,  with  deer  and  wolves  and 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  25 

bears  and  Indians  roaming  around.  I  used  to  hear  about  the  great 
Indian  fighters,  and  espccialh*  about  Major  Brady  and  "Mad  An- 
thony" Wayne. 

There  were  no  railroads  in  those  very  early  days,  and  people 
had  a  hard  time  to  get  money.  In  fact,  about  the  only  way  they 
knew  of  to  get  it  was  to  distill  their  grain  into  whisky,  float  it  down 
the  Youghiogheny  to  the  ^Nlonongahela,  then  into  the  Ohio,  then  in- 
to the  Mississippi,  and  down  the  Mississippi  to  New  Orleans.  From 
there  they  would  go  around  by  boat  to  New  York  or  Philadelphia. 
I  have  a  piece  of  cane  somewhere,  given  me  by  one  of  my  uncles, 
who  said  it  was  given  to  his  father  on  one  of  these  trips. 

So,  while  things  may  seem  to  3'ou  to  have  been  very  crude  in  my 
childhood,  they  were  very  much  advanced  as  compared  with  the 
conditions  which  prevailed  in  my  grandfather's  day.  The  people 
of  this  generation  owe  much  to  the  generation  which  preceded  them, 
but  the  people  of  my  childhood  owed  quite  as  much  to  the  genera- 
tion that  came  before  us. 

First  came  the  trail  over  which  the  advance  guard  of  civiliza- 
tion came  on  pack  horses.  Then  came  the  turnpike  built  with  na- 
tional aid,  about  which  I  will  tell  you  more  in  another  letter.  Then, 
when  I  was  about  twelve,  came  a  railroad,  a  very  primitive  affair 
compared  with  railroads  now — but  still  a  railroad.  In  fact,  in  my 
childhood  days,  much  of  the  pioneer  work  had  been  done.  Those 
great  forests  had  for  the  most  part  been  cleared.  Some  of  the 
fields  had  been  farmed  so  long  that  they  were  said  to  be  worn  out. 
For  the  story  of  the  worn-out  farm  is  not  a  modern  one;  it  is  very 
ancient.  The  farmers  who  first  cleared  up  the  land  and  built  the 
first  homes,  did  a  good  deal  of  fishing  and  hunting.  Their  chil- 
dren followed  their  example,  and  it  was  only  in  the  next  genera- 
tion that  they  really  began  to  farm  properly. 

It  used  to  be  one  of  the  delights  of  my  life  to  visit  my  Grand- 
father Ross.  They  lived  first  in  a  log  house,  much  like  the  one  in 
which  I  was  born;  but  when  I  made  the  first  visit  that  I  can  recol- 
lect, they  lived  in  a  big  stone  house,  and  had  a  big  stone  barn,  both 
of  which  must  have  been  wonders  when  they  were  built.  I  noticed 
when  I  was  back  there  last  that  the  date  on  the  house  was  1805,  as 
shown  by  the  inscription  on  the  stone — not,  as  you  would  expect, 
near  the  foundation,  but  up  near  the  roof.  When  I  visited  them  in 
my  boyhood,  my  grandfather  was  a  very  old  man,  between  eighty 
and  ninety,  and  very  quiet.  My  grandmother,  twenty  years  young- 
er, was  more  lively,  in  fact,  very  lively  for  her  age.  (She  lived  only 
two  months  after  his  death.) 

If  I  had  anything  new  to  show  to  my  grandmother,  I  was  sure 


26  Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story 

to  go  over  across  the  fields  that  same  evening.  It  was  only  a  hun- 
dred rods  across.  They  lived  with  a  son  who  was  a  wonderful 
story-teller.  When  I  was  older,  he  gave  me  a  book  of  fables — I 
think  the  name  of  the  author  was  Polyphetus,  or  some  such  name — 
stories  of  the  ancient  gods,  in  which  I  was  greath'  interested. 

But  what  interested  me  most  was  a  dog  that  would  get  up  on 
my  uncle's  knees  cAcr}'  evening,  and  he  would  pretend  to  shave  him 
with  his  pen-knife.  The  dog  would  move  his  chin  around,  looking 
as  tho  it  was  the  pleasure  of  his  life.  When  my  older  sister  and  I 
would  come  in,  he  Avould  bark  at  us  fiercely  in  the  hall,  and  when  we 
went  away,  he  would  amuse  himself  by  chasing  us  out. 

My  Uncle  Billy  had  a  larger  dog,  of  which  my  remembrance  is 
not  so  pleasant.  When  he  was  a  puppy,  I  used  to  like  to  plague 
him  by  poking  a  stick  in  his  kennel.  When  I  was  about  ten,  my 
sister  had  the  measles,  and  I  was  sent  over  to  my  grandfather's  to 
get  some  wall-ink,  which  was  a  kind  of  herb  that  grew  in  moist 
places,  a  mint  of  some  sort.  The  dog  was  watching  for  me,  and  as 
I  went  up  onto  the  porch,  ran  up  without  barking,  bit  me,  and  then 
ran  off,  as  tho  he  knew  he  had  done  a  mean  trick.  I  did  not  realize 
that  I  was  hurt  until  the  blood  ran  down  my  leg.  I  was  taken 
home,  and  held  on  a  chair  by  my  father,  while  old  Granny  Finley, 
a  neighbor,  sewed  up  the  wound  with  a  needle  and  thread.  I  vowed 
vengeance  on  her,  but  afterwards  forgave  her,  as  I  did  my  grand- 
mother for  putting  me  off  with  a  one-bladed  knife.  She  meant  it 
for  my  good.  This  left  a  scar  on  that  knee,  just  above  the  knee- 
cap, about  an  inch  and  a  half  long,  Avhich  I  am  still  carrying  with 
me.  Dogs,  like  men,  have  long  memories,  and — also  like  men — they 
seem  to  be  conscious  of  it  when  they  do  a  mean  thing.  I  vowed  I 
would  kill  that  dog,  but  I  didn't,  and  we  came  to  be  good  friends 
after  he  had  gotten  even  with  me. 


The  Old-Fashioned  School 

IREME^NIBER  the  old  schoolhouse  well,  tho  I  do  not  remember 
when  I  began  to  attend.  ]\Iy  mother  told  me  that  I  began  before 

I  was  four  years  old,  being  carried  on  horseback,  and  that 
I  then  knew  my  letters,  that  I  had  learned  them  without  any  aid, 
and  had  learned  them  upside  down.  I  suspect  she  was  disposed  to 
brag  a  little  on  her  oldest  son  when  she  said  that ;  for  I  have  been 
about  a  printing  office  for  thirty-five  years,  and  I  am  not  now 
able  to  read  type.  As  you  know,  the  letters  in  type  are  upside 
down ;  and  if  I  had  learned  my  alphabet  upside  down,  surely  I 
ought  to  be  able  to  read  type  that  way  today.  So  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  she  tried  to  make  me  out  a  good  deal  smarter  than  I 
really  was.     That  seems  to  be  rather  a  connnon  failing  of  mothers. 

The  schoolhouse  stood  on  the  comer  of  our  farm,  adjoining  a 
strip  of  timber.  It  was  built  of  logs,  after  the  manner  of  our  house 
and  the  spring-house — unhewn  logs,  chinked  and  daubed  with  com- 
mon clay,  tramped  until  it  was  thoroly  puddled.  As  I  remember 
it,  the  schoolhouse  was  about  18x2i  (possibly  20x30),  and  of  one 
room. 

In  the  center  was  a  round  stove,  made  of  iron,  with  a  flat  top 
bigger  than  the  stove,  an  ash-pan  below,  and  near  the  bottom  a 
hole  for  the  poker,  and,  of  course,  a  door  to  put  in  the  coal.  On 
three  sides  of  the  stove  were  what  were  called  the  "little  benches," 
sawed  boards,  with  rough  legs  stuck  into  holes  bored  into  the 
boards.  In  my  later  school  years,  pine  backs  were  put  on  these 
benches,  so  the  little  folks  could  lean  back.  These  little  benches  all 
faced  the  stove.  Then,  on  three  sides,  attached  to  the  wall,  was  a 
narrow  board,  perhaps  four  to  six  inches  wide,  and  on  this  the  ink 
bottles  rested.  Attached  to  that  board  was  a  board  from  twenty 
inches  to  two  feet  wide,  slanting  a  little  toward  the  seat  in  front  of 
it,  and  supported  from  below.  The  seats  were  a  curiosity.  They 
Avere  made  of  oak  slabs,  with  the  sawed  side  up  and  the  bark  side 
down,  with  holes  bored  in  the  under  side  for  the  rough  wooden  legs. 


28 


Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story 


The  New  Building  Which  Later  Took  the  Place  of  the  Old  Log  School  House. 

On  these,  we  larger  pupils  sat,  with  our  faces  to  the  wall,  when  we 
"wrote  our  copies"  or  "did  our  sums,"  and  with  our  backs  to  it 
when  reading  aloud. 

The  teacher  had  a  platform  at  the  east  end  of  the  room,  and  his 
desk  was  on  this  platform,  where  he  could  see  every  pupil.  Behind 
him  there  was  usually  a  fine  collection  of  switches,  of  which  the 
beech  was  the  favorite.  The  switches  lay  on  some  wooden  pins 
driven  into  the  wall,  all  ready  for  use ;  and  they  were  used  on  any 
reasonable  pretext.  The  wraps  were  put  up  on  shelves  attached  to 
the  inside  of  the  room  above  the  big  writing  desk.  The  girls  sat 
on  one  side  of  the  room,  and  the  boys  on  the  other  and  at  the  end, 
for  there  usually  were  not  enough  girls  to  fill  more  than  one  side. 

There  was  one  door  to  this  schoolhouse — at  the  east  end  and  to 
the  left  of  the  teacher's  desk ;  and  by  the  side  of  it  was  a  hole  in  the 
wall,  in  which  there  was  a  piece  of  iron  called  a  "pass."  No  one 
could  leave  the  room  unless  the  pass  was  in  this  hole.  When  a 
pupil  wished  to  leave,  he  took  the  pass  with  him,  and  no  one  else 
could  go  until  the  pass  was  retumcd  to  its  place.  There  was  a 
water  bucket  and  dipper,  and  it  was  a  treat  for  two  of  us  to  get 
special  permission  to  go  to  the  spring,  some  forty  rods  away,  and 
get  a  pail  of  water.  It  was  surprising  how  long  it  took  us  some- 
times to  get  this  water. 


Uncle   Henry's  Own   Story 


29 


The  books  were  of  the  most  primitive  sort.  The  very  small 
children  had  no  books  at  all,  but  a  broad  paddle,  such  as  we  used 
in  playing  town-ball — a  piece  of  six-inch  pine  board,  whittled  down 
at  one  end  to  a  handle.  The  parents  cut  out  the  letters  from  news- 
papers and  pasted  them  onto  this  paddle — first  the  capital  letters 
and  then  the  smaller  letters  beneath  them.  You  can  see  that  a  child 
could  not  very  easily  spoil  such  a  book  as  that;  and  if  he  kept 

awake,  these   letters   were  usu- 
ally before  him. 

For  the  class  next  above, 
there  was  Webster's  Spelling 
Book.  Then  came  the  New- 
England  Primer,  with  some  il- 
lustrations in  the  form  of  very 
crude  wood-cuts.  Much  of  this 
primer  was  made  up  of  Bible 
quotations,  and  in  the  back  of 
it  was  the  Shorter  Catechism. 
In  a  neighborhood  in  which 
Scotch  and  Scotch-Irish  Presby- 
terian children  were  in  the  ma- 
jority, we  were  drilled  in  this 
Shorter  Catechism  on  Saturday 
afternoons.  Then  followed  the 
First,  Second  and  Third  Read- 
ers, ending  with  the  English 
Reader,  which  was  rather  strong 
meat,  containing  many  quota- 
tions from  such  books  as  Locke  on  The  Understanding.  It  com- 
prised one  of  the  best  selections  of  literature  that  I  have  ever  read. 

My  mother  went  to  this  same  school,  and  read  out  of  the  same 
English  Reader  that  I  used,  and  it  was  her  brother's  before  her. 
I  don't  know  how  many  others  of  the  family  studied  from  it.  It 
was  substantially  bound  in  leather,  and  its  good  state  of  preserva- 
tion was  due  largely  to  the  fact  that  we  were  all  obliged  to  use 
"thumb  papers" — that  is,  we  took  a  piece  of  paper  and  put  it  under 
the  thumb  when  holding  the  book,  so  that  we  might  not  soil  it  or 
wear  out  the  edges  of  the  leaves. 

The  arithmetic  in  use  was  the  Western  Calculator.  T  have 
studied  this  book  somewhat  carefully  in  later  years,  and  it  is  a 
puzzle  to  me  how  anv  person  ever  learned  arithmetic  out  of  it. 
Mental  Arithmetic  came  in  during  niv  last  days  at  school:  aUo 


In  Adam's  Fall, 
We  sinned  all. 

B 

Thy  life  to  mend, 
This  Book  attend. 


Tbe  C^t  doth  play, 
And  after  slay. 


A  Dog  will  bite, 
A  thief  at  ni<rht. 


An  Eagle's  flight 
Is  out  of  sight. 


The  idle  Fool, 

Is  whipped  at  schoci 


A  Page  of  the  Old  School  Primer  Used  by 
Uncle  Henry. 


no  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

Ray's  Arithmetic.  We  had  no  blackboard  until  about  the  time  I 
left  this  school.  We  "did  our  sums"  on  our  slates  and  showed  them 
to  the  teacher. 

The  grammar  was  Ivirkham's,  with  definitions  of  the  parts  of 
speech,  rules,  etc.  I  doubt  whether  it  did  us  much  good.  We  don't 
learn  English  thi-u  grammar,  but  thru  reading  good  English ;  and 
it  is  a  question  with  me  whether  there  is  any  real  advantage  in 
teaching  grammar  to  j^oung  folks  until  the  later  years  of  their 
school  life. 

The  pride  of  the  school,  however,  was  the  spelling  class,  the 
last  thing  in  the  afternoon.  We  were  great  on  spelling.  It  was  a 
great  honor  to  spell  down  the  school  on  Friday  afternoons ;  and 
great  was  the  glory  to  the  champion  speller  who  could  win  in  con- 
tests with  adjoining  districts,  or  become  the  champion  speller  of 
the  township. 

As  to  writing,  the  teacher  gave  us  pot-hooks,  then  "set  us  the 
copy"  in  our  copy-books,  which  were  made  of  sheets  of  foolscap  or 
some  other  large-sized  ruled  paper,  fastened  together.  This  was 
before  the  day  of  steel  pens,  and  the  pens  we  used  were  made  of 
goose  quills.  One  of  the  duties  of  the  teacher  was  to  make  these 
pens  and  teach  us  how  to  make  them  ;  and  his  ability  in  this  line 
was  one  of  the  evidences  of  a  good  teacher.  I  remember  well  my 
first  lesson  in  writing,  or  rather  in  making  pot-hooks.  I  thought  I 
was  doing  finely,  but  the  teacher,  looking  over  my  shoulder,  was 
not  of  that  opinion ;  but  gave  me  a  box  on  the  ear  and  a  scolding, 
which  discouraged  me  to  such  a  great  extent  that  I  have  never 
been  able  to  write  a  hand  that  anybody  else  could  read  with  any 
certainty  that  they  read  it  right — a  sad  case  of  the  untimely  sup- 
pression of  budding  aspirations ! 

We  had  a  funny  way  of  studying  geography,  or  at  least  of 
learning  the  names  of  the  states  and  their  capitals.  We  sang  them, 
commencing : 

"Maine,  Maine — Augusta,  Augusta; 
New  Hampshire,  New  Hampshire — Concord,  Concord ; 
Connecticut,  Connecticut — Hartford  and  New  Haven  " 

and  so  on  thru.  One  thing  is  certain,  we  enjoyed  this  geography 
lesson.  It  was,  in  fact,  great  fun  for  the  whole  school  together, 
and  we  never  forgot  either  the  states  or  their  capitals,  tho  just 
where  they  were  located  would  have  to  be  discovered  on  the  map. 

There  was  no  other  singing  in  the  school  in  those  days,  and  no 
devotional  exercises  except  an  occasional  reading  of  the  Bible  and 


Uncle  Henry's  Own   Storj  31 

the  Catechism  in  the  schools  where  the  Scotch  Presbyterian  ele- 
ment predominated.  This  was  finally  discontinued  in  our  school, 
because  most  of  the  pupils  were  Pennsylvania  Dutch,  and  many  of 
the  youngsters  could  not  speak  English  at  all  when  they  first  came, 
altho  they  learned  it  with  amazing  readiness.  There  was  an  inter- 
mission of  an  hour  at  noon,  when  we  played  town-ball,  baseball, 
and  three-cornered  cat,  besides  such  games  as  drop  the  handker- 
chief and  ring-around-a-rosy,  in  which  the  girls  joined,  and  some 
of  the  smaller  boys. 

I  have  a  distinct  recollection  of  three  of  my  teachers.  My  first 
teacher  was  an  uncle  of  mine,  of  whom  I  have  no  recollection  what- 
ever. The  next  I  have  good  reason  to  remember.  His  name  was 
Billy  (lemons,  a  man  of  medium  size,  with  but  one  eye,  who  had  the 
unfortunate  habit  of  getting  drunk  occasionally — perhaps  once  a 
month.  There  was  a  tradition  among  the  boys  that  he  had  another 
eye  concealed  somewhere  in  the  back  of  his  head.  When  drunk,  his 
pet  amusement  was  to  torment  and  badger  and  nag  the  best  boys 
in  the  school,  and  the  head  of  the  spelling  class  was  sure  to  end  up 
at  the  foot.  It  was  my  ambition  to  stand  at  the  head  of  the  spell- 
ing class,  and  I  trembled  when  I  saw  him  coming  down  the  lane 
with  his  drunken  swagger,  for  I  knew  I  was  destined  to  go  to  the 
foot  that  day.  But  w  hat  hurt  me  most  was  that  he  would  leer  at  me 
with  his  one  eye  and  say :  "Henry,  you  are  a  pretty  smart  boy, 
but  you  know  it !"  Inasmuch  as  most  of  the  parents  took  an  occa- 
sional nip  at  the  "0,  be  joyful,"  they  tolerated  old  Billy,  notwith- 
standing this  failing  of  his,  because  of  his  real  ability  as  a  teacher ; 
and  he  taught  our  school  for  a  number  of  years. 

The  next  teacher  was  named  Harrison  Markle,  or  "Miracle,"  as 
he  was  usually  called;  and  he  surely  was  a  wonder,  if  not  a  miracle. 
He  had  the  funniest  way  of  punishing  both  boys  and  girls  that  I 
ever  heard  of.  One  of  his  favorite  niethods  with  a  boy  was  to  make 
him  run  around  the  stove  on  all  fours,  and  as  he  passed  him  each 
time,  he  applied  the  paddle.  Another  was  to  have  four  boys  ride 
the  offender  on  a  rail.  His  way  of  punishing  the  girls  was  likewise 
ingenious.  He  had  auger  holes  of  different  sizes  bored  in  the  logs, 
and  when  a  girl  committed  a  misdemeanor,  he  made  her  put  her  nose 
in  an  auger  hole,  the  holes  being  adjusted  to  the  height  of  the  girls. 
He  did  not  teach  us  very  long,  but  he  left  a  marked  impression  on 
our  minds. 

The  fourth  teacher  I  had  was  a  man  of  good  education,  a  stu- 
dent for  the  ministry,  which  he  entered  not  long  afterwards.  I  had 
quit  the  school  after  the  reign  of  Markle,  but  went  back  under 


32  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

Hargrave.     He  was  one  of  those  teachers  who  not  only  teach,  but 
who  inspire  the  pupil  with  the  desire  to  learn. 

There  were  no  women  teachers  in  those  days.  They  came  after- 
wards. The  children  in  the  school  were  all  the  way  from  four  to 
twenty-one  year  old.  Boys  over  fourteen  largely  dropped  out  at 
the  advent  of  the  woman  teacher.  For  it  is  one  of  the  principles  of 
human  nature  that  boys  of  this  age  don't  have  any  particular  liking 
for  girls,  and  don't  care  to  be  taught  by  a  woman,  however  radical 
may  be  the  change  in  their  attitude  to  the  fair  sex  later,  which  my 
observation  has  shown  to  be  quite  a  violent  one. 

Elementary  as  this  teaching  was,  and  absurd  as  it  may  seem  to 
you,  there  was  this  about  it:  There  were  no  fads  in  our  educa- 
tion, no  cramming.  There  was  no  kindergarten,  no  blackboard 
even.  Our  schooling  was  largely  "the  three  R's" — reading,  'riting 
and  'rithmetic — with  Spelling,  and  Spelling  always  with  a  capital 
*'S."  I  am  sure  that  those  who  attended  that  school  could  spell  a 
great  deal  better  than  most  of  the  children  of  today.  I  think  it 
would  be  a  fine  thing  if  this  spelling  drill  should  be  revived  in  our 
modern  schools.  The  schools  were  in  session  nine  months  in  the 
year,  the  largest  attendance  being  during  the  winter  season,  when 
it  reached  fifty  to  sixty  in  our  school.  * 

I  must  not  forget  to  mention  one  thing  that  was  customary  at 
these  schools.  We  demanded  a  Christmas  treat.  The  larger  boys 
usually  appointed  a  committee,  who  made  the  demand  on  the  teach- 
er in  writing — so  many  bushels  of  apples,  so  much  cider,  so  many 
pounds  of  candy.  The  teacher  Avell  understood  that  if  this  was  not 
forthcoming,  there  would  be  a  "barrin'  out,"  which  meant  that  on 
the  last  day  of  school  before  Christmas,  the  boys  would  take  pos- 
session of  the  schoolhouse,  lock  the  door,  and  refuse  admission  to 
the  teacher.  One  teacher,  Billy  Clemons,  having  taken  a  little  too 
much  "tea"  just  before  the  demand  was  made,  refused  to  treat. 
Finding  the  door  locked,  he  got  up  in  the  attic  in  some  way,  and 
came  down  thru  the  trap-door ;  but  he  went  out  quicker  than  he 
came  in.  He  learned  wisdom  for  the  next  time.  When  teaching  a 
neighboring  school,  and  finding  the  door  locked,  he  simply  went 
away,  saying:  "There  will  be  no  more  school  this  year,"  which, 
of  course,  there  would  not  have  been  anyway,  as  it  was  the  Christ- 
mas holidays. 

I  remember  once  coming  home  and  announcing  with  great  pride 
that  I  had  "ciphered"  all  the  way  thru  the  arithmetic.  Father  was 
very  glad  to  know  it,  and  said  he  had  a  job  for  me,  to  find  out 
whether  I  really  knew  anything  about  it  or  not.  The  next  day  he 
directed  me  to  take  down  and  measure  a  pile  of  boards  which  had 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  33 

been  accumulating  for  the  new  house,  and  tell  him  how  many  feet 
there  were,  board  measure.  The  next  night,  I  presented  him  with  a 
rather  astonishing  lot  of  figures,  at  which  he  said,  "Tut,  tut !"  I 
told  him  that  that  sort  of  a  sum  was  not  in  the  book.  "What  is 
the  use  of  sending  you  to  school  to  do  sums  in  a  book,  if  you  can't 
do  sums  out  of  the  book?"  Then  he  told  me  I  had  better  tackle  the 
pile  of  boards  the  next  day,  and  remember  that  some  of  them  were 
six  inches  wide  and  some  of  them  a  foot  wide,  and  see  if  I  could  not 
get  a  result  somev.'here  near  the  truth.  This,  in  fact,  was  a  better 
lesson  for  me  than  any  I  had  had  in  school  for  many  a  day. 

The  schoolhouse  was  not  used  solely  for  school  purposes.  It 
was  open  to  the  singing  school  teacher,  who  took  up  a  subscrip- 
tion and  then  gave  so  many  lessons.  There  was  no  musical  instru- 
ment— simply  a  tuning  fork ;  and  it  is  needless  to  say  that  this  sing- 
ing school  teacher  was  a  very  great  man  in  the  eyes  of  the  small 
boys  and  girls. 


Recreations 

IN  my  boyhood  days,  amusements  and  recreations  were  somewhat 
limited — perhaps  not  more  so,  however,  than  in  many  rural 

communities  today.  There  were  some,  however,  that  I  am  quite 
sure  the  boys  and  girls  do  not  have  now.  For  example,  we  had 
husking  bees.  The  farmer  who  intended  to  give  entertainment  to 
the  young  folks  of  his  neighborhood,  by  having  a  husking  bee, 
snapped  his  corn,  put  it  in  a  long  pile,  perhaps  three  feet  high, 
three  or  four  feet  wide  at  the  bottom,  and  coming  to  a  point  at  the 
top.  Then  he  invited  in  the  boys.  They  chose  two  captains,  who 
chose  sides.  They  then  divided  the  pile  evenly,  and  the  question 
was  which  side  would  get  thru  first.  With  the  husking  bee,  there 
was  usually  something  doing  at  the  house,  perhaps  an  apple  paring 
or  a  quilting.  After  the  work  was  done,  there  were  "eatin's",  and 
after  that  usually  some  dancing  of  the  old-fashioned  sort,  and,  of 
course,  a  fiddler.  ]My  father  and  mother  regarded  dancing  as 
something  which  belonged  to  the  unregenerate,  and  I  never  learned 
to  dance.     Possibly  I  was  all  the  better  for  never  learning. 

The  boys  had  more  forms  of  amusement  than  the  girls.  One 
of  the  favorite  sports  in  the  fall  of  the  year  was  'coon  hunting.  If 
there  was  a  pack  of  hounds,  or  even  one  or  two  hounds  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, there  was  some  real  sport  in  hunting  'coons  on  a  moon- 
light night,  listening  until  the  lead  hound  struck  the  trail,  then 
waiting  until  the  barking  showed  that  they  had  treed  the  'coon. 
Then  came  the  interesting  problem  of  how  to  get  it  down.  It  must 
be  done  either  by  climbing  the  tree — which  was  sometimes  done — or 
by  cutting  it  down.  This  we  did  if  it  was  not  too  near  the  house, 
for  some  of  the  good  old  farmers  regarded  the  cutting  down  of  a 
'coon  tree  or  a  bee  tree  as  something  verging  on  sacrilege.  If  the 
farmer  was  particularly  irritable  on  this  point,  of  course  this  was 
a  good  reason  why  we  should  irritate  him.  Such  is  the  perversity 
of  human  nature.  When  the  corn  was  in  the  roasting  ear,  it  gave 
zest  to  the  sport  to  "hook"  some  roasting  ears  from  the  field,  build 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  35 

a  log  fire,  and  roast  them  while  the  hounds  were  trailing  anotjier 
'coon. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  recreation  in  the  old-fashioned  sing- 
ing school.  The  teacher  usually  had  three  or  four  schools,  which 
he  conducted  on  different  evenings  of  the  week.  This  gave  a  chance 
for  the  boys  and  girls  to  get  together.  I  do  not  know  how  much 
singing  we  learned ;  but  I  do  know  that  about  the  only  tunes  I  can 
sing  to  this  day  are  those  that  I  learned  in  the  old  singing  school. 
One  of  the  interesting  things  about  singing  school  was  taking  the 
girls  home;  for  of  course  they  must  not  be  permitted  to  go  thru 
the  woods  alone.  The  boys  usually  got  out  first,  and  waited  out- 
side the  door.  Then  when  the  girls  came  out,  this  was  heard :  "May 
I  see  you  home.'"'  or  "Will  you  accept  of  my  company.'"'  Some- 
times she  gladly  said  yes,  sometimes  no,  in  which  case  he  was  said 
to  have  "got  the  mitten,"  and  great  was  the  glee  of  the  other  boys 
who  overheard  it,  and  much  he  had  to  endure  afterwards. 

There  was  one  diversion  in  our  neighborhood  that  we  greatly 
enjo^-ed,  and  that  was  called  "swabbing  the  river."  The  Youghio- 
ghcny  is  a  rather  narrow  stream,  with  riffles  where  some  harder 
and  more  enduring  rocks  come  to  the  surface,  every  half  mile  or 
so,  and  between  these  riffles  stretches  of  water  several  feet  deep, 
and  sometimes  with  deep  and  dangerous  holes.  We  could  "swab" 
the  river  only  when  it  was  low,  in  August.  Farmers  would  say  to 
their  boys:  Now,  if  you  will  get  the  manure  hauled  out,  you  may 
have  a  day's  fishing.  The  boys  cut  grapevines  and  brush  and  made 
a  rope  about  as  thick  as  the  body  of  a  small  horse,  and  stretched  it 
across  the  river.  In  the  meantime,  another  detachment  had  thrown 
up  dams  in  a  riffle  leading  into  a  pot.  After  the  fish  were  scared 
into  that  pot  by  the  swab,  which  frequently  had  rye  straw  fastened 
to  its  under  side,  they  must  themselves  catch  the  fish  by  hand  or 
with  a  net.  Sometimes  we  caught  many  fish,  at  other  times  none 
or  a  very  small  number;  but,  fish  or  no  fish,  we  had  a  fine  day's 
sport,  and  had  fine  appetites  for  supper. 

Where  there  was  a  sugar  camp,  or  a  sugar  bush,  as  it  is  called, 
we  had  a  good  time  during  the  month  of  February,  when  it  came  to 
"sugaring  off,"  in  which  the  boys  and  girls  could  take  part.  In 
spite  of  these  things,  as  I  look  back  over  those  days,  I  realize  that 
the  amount  of  recreation  and  amusement  was  pitifully  small. 


Sabbath  Keeping 


IN  my  jounger  days,  the  Sabbatli  was  kept  very  strictly  by  fam- 
ilies of  all  deijoiii illations,  especially  Presbyterians,  and  was  ob- 
served generally  with  much  greater  strictness  than  now.  In 
the  family  of  the  Presbyterian  or  United  Presbyterian  (then  known 
as  Associate  Reformed  Seceder),  the  children  were  expected  to  get 
out  their  Sunday  clothes  on  Saturday  evening,  brush  them,  hang 
them  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  black  their  shoes  and  the  shoes  of 
their  parents — and  those  of  the  preacher  if  he  happened  to  be  there 
— and  fill  up  the  wood-box  or  coal-box.  The  girls  were  expected 
to  grind  the  coffee  and  to  do  everything  that  could  be  done  before- 
hand in  preparing  food  for  the  Sabbath. 

There  was  family  worship  in  the  morning,  in  many  families 
every  morning — a  full  family  worship.  A  Psalm  was  sung,  but 
there  was  no  musical  instrument  accompanying  it.  In  fact,  there 
were  no  musical  instruments  in  the  house  except  perhaps  a  fiddle, 
the  use  of  which  on  the  Sabbath  would  have  been  deemed  sacrilege 
of  an  aggravated  character.  A  chapter  in  the  Bible  was  read ;  and 
then  came  the  long  prayer,  composed  of  much  the  same  sentences 
day  after  day,  but  sometimes  in  a  different  order. 

Then  we  went  to  church.  We  belonged  to  a  country  church  six 
miles  from  the  farm.  There  was  never  any  question  as  to  whether 
or  not  we  should  go.  We  went,  no  matter  how  cold  it  was,  altho 
it  was  not  expected  of  us  that  we  start  out  in  a  drenching  rain; 
better  be  late  than  get  soaked.  It  would  have  to  rain  hard  and 
long,  however,  to  keep  us  from  going  to  church. 

The  churches  were  constructed  differently  from  the  country 
church  of  today.  There  were  four  doors  and  three  aisles — a  door 
at  each  side,  opening  into  a  broad  aisle  in  front  of  the  pulpit,  and 
two  narrower  aisles  leading  to  the  doors  in  the  end  opposite  the 
pulpit.  This  was  for  communion  purposes,  of  which  more  later. 
The  pulpit  was  half-way  up  to  the  ceiling.  Into  this,  ascent  was 
made  by  a  number  of  steps  on  each  side.    The  structure  of  the  pul- 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 


37 


The  Old  Stone  Church  at  West  Newton,  Penn- 
sylvania, Which  Henry  Wallace 
Attended  as  a  Boy. 


Henry  Wallace  in  1914  Visiting  the  Graves  of 

His  Parents  and  Brothers  and  Sisters 

at  West  Newton. 


pit  was  about  as  high  as  an  ordinary  man's  shoulders.  A  reading 
desk  with  everything  open  in  front  would  have  been  regarded  as  a 
mark  of  lack  of  orthodoxy. 

The  services  began  with  an  invocation ;  then  the  reading  of  a 
Psalm,  followed  by  an  explanation  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  long. 
A  Psalm  was  sung  after  that.  There  was  no  organ  and  no  choir, 
only  a  precentor,  or,  as  he  was  usually  called,  the  "dark."  He 
stood  in  front  of  the  pulpit  and  gave  out  two  lines  at  a  time.  Some 
of  these  precentors  fell  into  the  amusing  habit  of  hitching  the  last 
note  of  the  two  lines  sung  to  the  next  two  lines,  so  that  there  was  no 
perceptible  break  between  the  singing  and  the  reading,  which  was 
intoning  rather  than  reading.  The  tunes  were  limited  to  common 
and  long  meter,  and  no  repeating  was  allowed.  I  have  seen  gray- 
haired  ciders  go  out  in  a  rage  because  the  "dark"  who  sang  or 
"raised"  the  tune  repeated  the  last  line. 

Then  followed  what  was  called  the  long  prayer,  anywhere  from 
thirty  to  forty-five  minutes  long,  in  which  the  Power  to  whom 
prayer  is  offered  received  a  great  deal  of  instruction  in  Calvinistic 
theology.  Then  followed  another  Psalm  and  the  exposition,  or 
the  Scripture  or  lecture,  which  was  usually  from  an  hour  to  an 
hour  and  a  quarter  in  length.  It  covered  part  of  a  chapter.  Then 
followed  half  an  hour's  intermission,  and  then  came  the  sermon, 
which  was  from  three-quarters  of  an  hour  to  an  hour  long.  We 
were  by  this  time  anxious  to  get  home,  it  being  somewhere  between 
two  and  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  as  we  had  had  nothing  to 
eat  since  breakfast  except  some  little  cakes,  and  were  ready  for  a 
square  meal. 

Communion  was  observed  twice  a  year,  and  called  the  spring 


38  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

and  fall  communion.  The  Friday  preceding  was  Fast  Da}',  in 
which  we  were  supposed  to  eat  plain,  simple  food,  and  not  too  much 
of  it.  However,  my  mother  never  allowed  her  children  to  go  very 
hungr3\  Fast  Day  was  observed  very  much  as  the  Sabbath,  and 
much  more  strictly  than  the  Sabbath  is  observed  nowadays.  There 
was  usually  one  sermon  on  Saturday,  at  which  "tokens"  were  dis- 
tributed. You  do  not  know  what  a  token  is.''  I  can  not  tell  you 
how  it  originated,  but  a  token  is  a  small  piece  of  lead,  or  perhaps 

jsome  other  metal,  about  half  an  inch  long,  a  quarter  of  an  inch 
wide,  and  about  half  that  thick,  on  which  was  stamped  the  name  of 

ithe  chprch.  All  "expecting"  communicants,  as  they  were  called, 
came  forward  at  the  close  of  the  sermon  on  Fast  Day  and  received 
the  token,  which  entitled  the  holder  to  a  seat  at  the  Lord's  Table 
the  next  Sabbath.  I  presume  this  dates  back  some  hundreds  of 
years  to  the  times  of  the  persecutions  in  Scotland,  when  the  Cove- 
nanters needed  something  by  which  to  identify  the  members  of  dif- 
ferent communities  who  wished  to  attend  the  communion  services 
held  in  some  out-of-the-way  place,  where  there  would  be  no  danger 
of  being  molested  by  their  persecutors. 

Communion  Sabbath  was  observed  wnth  extra  strictness.  It 
began  in  the  usual  order,  but  the  sermon  was  called  the  "action" 
sermon,  upon  which  the  preacher  was  supposed  to  have  done  his 
best  work.  Then  followed  what  was  known  as  the  debarment, 
which  was  an  exposition  of  the  Ten  Commandments,  warning  all 
who  were  wilfully  violating  these  in  any  particular  not  to  come  to 
the  Lord's  Table  until  they  had  repented  of  their  transgressions 
and  had  sought  forgiveness.  The  tables  were  simply  long,  narrow 
benches,  covered  with  clean,  white  cloths,  with  a  seat  on  each  side, 
the  minister  standing  at  the  head.  The  communicants  came  for- 
ward, singing  the  proper  Psalm — for  example: 

"I  love  the  Lord ; 
For  He  did  hear  my  voice 
And  supplications  all," 

"With  sacrifice  of  thanks  I'll  go 
And  on  Jehovah's  name  will  call ; 
I'll  pay  my  vows  unto  the  Lord 
Before  His  people  all." 

The  minister  then  made  an  address  before  distributing  the  ele- 
ments, which  were  passed  down  along  the  seats  by  the  elders.  In  a 
large  congregation  there  would  be  three  or  four  tables,  and  the 
service  would  be  very  long.     It  was  for  this  reason  that  communion 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  39 

was  held  in  the  spring  and  fall,  thus  avoiding  both  the  short  davs 
and  the  busy  season.  I  know  of  few  more  solemn  scenes  than  the 
approach  to  the  communion  tables  in  my  boyhood  days.  There 
was  something  about  leaving  your  seat,  coming  in  at  the  foot  of 
the  table,  and  passing  out  at  the  other  end  after  the  service  was 
over,  which  is  entirely  lacking  where  the  comnmnicants  sit  in  the 
pews.  There  was  a  manifest  relief  on  the  way  home  from  this 
tension. 

One  regular  part  of  the  Sabbath  evening  was  reciting  the  Cate- 
chism. The  boy  of  fourteen  was  supposed  to  be  able  to  answer 
every  question  in  the  Shorter  Catechism  from  beginning  to  end, 
which  is  the  best  and  briefest  compendium  of  Calvinistic  theology 
with  which  I  am  acquainted.  Very  few  boys  tackled  the  larger 
Catechism.  There  wrt-e  one  hundred  and  seven  questions  in  the 
shorter;  how  many  in  the  larger  I  do  not  know,  for  I  never  got 
beyond  the  third  or  fourth  commandment  in  that.  As  if  this  was 
not  enough,  the  older  boys  were  expected  to  know  part  of  the  con- 
fession of  faith,  and  all  the  Psalms,  one  Psalm  being  committed 
each  Sabbath.  I  remember  how  delighted  I  was  when  the  Psalm 
for  the  day  was  a  short  one,  and  two  of  the  Psalms  which  are  almost 
alike  were  my  delight.  We  did  not  always  understand  the  cate- 
chism; and  if  we  complained  that  we  could  not  understand  it,  we 
were  assured  that  it  would  come  to  us  afterwards,  which  it  did.  I 
give  it  as  my  judgment  to  you  young  folks,  that  committing  and 
reciting  intelligently  the  Shorter  Catechism  is  equal  to  a  full  year 
at  school. 

We  had  one  religious  paper,  called  The  Preacher,  which  was 
theological  and  controversial,  particularly  in  what  were  known  as 
"distinctive  principles."  Besides  that,  our  Sabbath  reading  was 
limited  to  a  few  books,  for  example,  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
Boston's  Fourfold  Estate,  Aliein's  Alarm  to  the  Unconverted, 
Daubigne's  History  of  the  Reformation,  somebody's  Meditations 
Among  the  Tombs,  which  I  never  enjoyed.  We  usually  went  to  bed 
early  on  Sabbath  evening,  and  got  up  early  Monday  morning.  The 
reading  of  secular  books  on  the  Sabbath  was  forbidden,  and  secular 
conversation  discouraged.  Still,  I  noticed  that  both  in  going  home 
from  church  and  on  Sabbath  evening,  how  easy  it  was  to  slip  to 
the  secular.     For  example,  this  on  the  way  home  from  church : 

"George,  that's  a  fine  field  of  wheat  of  Alex.  Milligan's." 

"It  is." 

"It  will  probably  be  fit  to  cut  by  the  end  of  the  week." 

"Well,  if  the  weather  is  fine,  it  may  be ;  but  probably  it  would 
be  better  to  wait  a  few  days  longer." 


40  Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story 

"That  ought  to  bring  a  dollar  a  bushel  this  year." 

Thus  the  good  men  gradually  veered  off,  and  were  soon  talking 
of  matters  belonging  to  this  world. 

During  the  intermission,  the  boys  did  not  always  avoid  worldly 
conversation,  however.  On  my  last  trip  to  the  old  church,  I  re- 
minded a  gray-haired  elder,  who,  when  we  were  boys  together, 
prided  himself  on  riding  a  fine  horse,  a  gray,  of  a  conversation 
that  ran  something  like  this : 

"That's  a  fine  horse  of  yours,  Jim.  If  it  M^as  not  the  Sabbath, 
what  would  you  take  for  it.=" 

"I  never  trade  on  the  Sabbath ;  but  if  was  not  the  Sabbath,  I 
would  take  a  hundred  and  fifty." 

"I  never  talk  trade  on  the  Sabbath,  either ;  but  if  it  was  not  the 
Sabbath,  I  would  give  you  a  hundred  and  forty." 

"Come  over  and  see  me  tomorrow." 

How  hard  it  is  for  any  of  us  to  live  up  to  our  ideals,  or  even 
our  convictions  ! 

While  I  did  not  enjoy  reading  Meditations  Among  the  Tombs, 
it  was  not  an  uncommon  practice  for  us  young  folks,  during  the 
intermission  between  services,  to  saunter  into  the  church-yard  nnd 
amuse  ourselves  reading  the  inscriptions.  I  am  sorry  that  I  can 
not  remember  any  of  them.  The  older  form  of  tombstone  was  a 
broad  slab  of  native  stone,  low,  resting  on  and  completely  covering 
the  grave ;  later,  a  form  of  marble  placed  upright.  It  was  easier 
for  us  to  read  the  inscriptions  on  the  flat  slabs,  and,  besides,  thev 
were  convenient  to  sit  down  on.  What  was  said  in  these  "medita 
tions  among  the  tombs,"  I  do  not  remember— and  probablv  wo"ld 
not  tell  vou  if  I  did ! 


The  New  Barn 

IT  may  interest  you  youngsters  to  know  sometliing  about  what 
kind  of  a  barn  your  great-great-grandfather  built,  a  few  years 

after  he  married  and  settled  down  and  began  to  get  a  bit  ahead 
in  the  world.  Fashions  change.  The  hat  or  coat  worn  last  year 
will  be  out  of  style  this  year.  Fashions  in  barns  change  also ;  but 
there  is  a  much  more  sensible  reason  for  the  change  of  fashion  in 
barns  than  in  clothes.  Barns  are  built  in  every  country,  in  every 
age,  to  suit  the  conditions,  and  the  student  of  agriculture  could,  by 
studying  a  barn  in  any  country,  and  in  any  age,  however  remote, 
make,  from  that  study  alone,  a  pretty  accurate  guess  as  to  the  ag- 
riculture of  that  country,  just  as  the  scientist,  b}'  finding  a  bone 
of  some  extinct  animal,  can  piece  out  the  rest  of  it  and  tell  us  what 
kind  of  an  animal  it  was,  what  it  lived  on,  and  when.  There  was  an 
old  barn  on  the  place  when  my  father  bought  it — built  of  logs,  and 
made  to  meet  very  primitive  conditions.  I  remember  seeing  it  once. 
In  fact,  it  is  one  of  the  first  things  I  can  remember. 

I  have  no  distinct  recollection  of  the  building  of  the  new  barn  ; 
could  not  be  expected  to  have,  as  I  was  only  about  three  years  old. 
It  was  built  in  1839,  the  year  my  oldest  brother  was  born.  The 
foundation  was  30x70,  but  the  long  beams  projected  out  nine  feet 
over  the  width  of  the  barn,  making  what  was  called  an  overshot,  a 
place  where  cattle  could  get  in,  and  out  of  the  wet,  when  it  was  not 
desirable  to  put  them  in  the  stable.  It  was  of  the  bank  type — that 
is,  the  east  and  north  sides  were  partially  underground,  the  bank 
being  cut  away  from  one  to  four  feet.  The  object,  I  suppose,  was 
to  provide  warmer  quarters  for  the  cattle  in  winter.  The  bam 
proper  was  divided  the  short  way  into  four  sections,  a  mow  on  the 
east  and  on  the  west,  with  loose  boards  for  the  floor,  and  two  thresh- 
ing floors  in  the  center.  The  walls  of  the  lower  story  or  basement 
were  of  rock  ;  and  the  entrance  to  the  threshing  floors  was  by  a 
bank  and  a  bridge. 

This  barn  was  built  to  last.     It  has  now  stood  over  seventy 


42 


Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story 


The  New  Barn,  Built  of  Oak  and  Maple  in  1839,  and  Still  Serviceabk. 


3'ears,  and,  with  the  exception  of  needing  re-shingling  every  twen-* 
ty-five  or  thirty  years,  is  apparently  as  good  as  ever.  Roofs  lasted 
longer  then  than  now,  for  the  reason  that  you  could  get  better 
shingles,  and  for  the  further  reason  that  they  used  iron  nails 
instead  of  the  miserable  steel  nails  that  rust  out  in  a  few  years. 
Timber  must  have  been  cheap  and  plentiful  when  that  barn  was 
built,  judging  from  the  size  of  the  great  hewn  logs  used  for  beams 
and  floor  sills,  else  sills  would  have  been  placed  on  edge  rather  than 
on  the  flat  side.  There  was  enough  good  oak  and  sugar-tree  tim- 
ber in  it  to  build  two  or  three  barns  of  like  capacity. 

You  may  wonder  why  my  father  built  a  large  and  expensive 
barn  like  this  several  years  before  he  built  a  new  house.  Here  is 
another  illustration  of  the  changes  of  fashion.  My  father  deemed 
it  necessary — and  in  this  he  did  not  differ  from  his  thrifty  Scotch- 
Irish  and  Pennsylvania  Dutch  neighbors — to  build  a  large  barn  in 
order  to  save  the  grain  crop  from  damage  and  to  shelter  the  live 
stock,  and  thus  lay  the  foundation  of  future  prosperity.  The  new 
house  could  wait  till  afterwards  ;  for  in  those  days  people  were  used 
to  self-denial.  jMoreovcr,  the  size  of  the  barn  had  something  to  do 
with  the  farmer's  standing  in  the  community.  When  a  farmer  in 
the  next  township  built  a  barn  a  hundred  feet  long,  some  of  the  old 
fellows  whose  barns  were  only  seventy  feet  long,  thought  that  was 


Uncle   Henry's   Own   Story  43 

going  a  little  too  far,  and  rather  suspected  it  was  not  all  paid  for, 
and  the  more  so  because  he  had  for  a  weather-vane  an  enormous 
cow. 

These  great  barns,  when  full  of  hay  and  grain  going  thru  the 
sweat,  were  sometimes  struck  by  lightning;  and  the  first  insurance 
company  I  ever  heard  of  was  a  verbal  agreement  made  between  my 
father  and  a  number  of  his  neighbors  to  rebuild  the  bam  of  any 
one  of  them  in  case  it  was  destroyed  by  lightning.  None  of  them 
were  ever  struck,  and  hence  the  soundness  of  this  novel  insurance 
company  was  never  tested ;  but  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  but 
that  the  agreement  would  have  been  carried  out.  A  man's  word 
pledged  to  a  neighbor  in  those  days  was  a  sacred  thing,  whether 
given  as  a  pledge  for  the  payment  of  money,  for  the  fulfillment  of 
an  agreement  or  contract,  or  anything  else. 

Some  of  you  youngsters,  who  arc  accustomed  to  seeing  hay 
barns  with  a  great  door  let  down  near  the  top,  thru  which  the  hay 
is  lifted  by  horse  power  or  gasoline  engines,  may  wonder  how  we  got 
the  hay  and  grain  into  this  barn,  and  also  what  need  there  was 
of  two  threshing  floors.  You  probably  do  not  know  what  a  thresh- 
ing floor  is.  The  place  to  do  the  threshing,  of  course.  This  was 
done  in  two  ways,  with  a  machine,  or  in  the  old  scriptural  way,  de- 
scribed in  Isaiah,  28  :27,  except  that  in  Isaiah's  day  the  threshing 
was  done  by  oxen,  as  in  the  days  of  Moses.  You  remember,  Moses 
said:  "Thou  shalt  not  muzzle  the  ox  that  treadeth  out  the  corn." 

The  machine  was  a  very  simple  affair,  an  enclosed  cylinder  and 
concave  driven  by  horse  power,  sometimes  four  horses,  sometimes 
six,  sometimes  eight — the  power  being  transmitted  from  the  horse 
power  outside  to  the  machine  inside  by  a  tumbling  rod.  The  sheaves 
were  thrown  out  of  the  mow  onto  a  table  by  the  machine,  and  there 
unbound  by  hand,  in  order  that  the  speed  m.ight  not  be  checked  by 
a  knot  passing  thru  the  machine.  They  were  fed  into  the  machine, 
which  was  so  located  that  the  straw  and  grain  were  shot  into  a 
corner. 

The  hardest  work  would  fall  upon  the  man  who  stood  at  the 
tail  of  the  machine  and  raked  the  straw  away  in  a  direction  at 
right-angles  to  the  machine.  There  were  about  five  or  six  shakers, 
with  forks,  who  passed  the  strnw  from  one  to  the  other,  shaking  it 
as  they  passed  it  out,  until  it  reached  the  stackers  on  the  outside  of 
the  barn.  After  running  about  three  or  four  hundred  sheaves 
thru  the  machine,  it  was  necessary  to  stop  and  "cave  up,"  that  is, 
shove  the  grain  that  had  accumulated  to  the  far  comer  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  threshing  floor. 

Threshing  was  regarded  as  hard  and  dusty  work.    As  the  work 


44  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

was  done  co-operatively,  neighbors  helped  each  other  in  turn.  After 
I  was  fifteen,  I  had  a  good  deal  to  do  in  "paying  back,"  as  my 
father  choked  up  with  the  dust,  and  I  went  in  his  place.  I  rather 
liked  it,  because  there  was  plenty  of  company  (there  was  more  iso- 
lation in  farm  life  then  than  now),  but  mainly  because  the  eating 
on  those  occasions  was  of  the  best.  Nothing  was  regarded  as  too 
good  for  threshers.  What  fine  eatings  there  were ;  and  I  suspect  it 
tasted  better  in  those  days,  because  I  never  lacked  an  appetite. 
And  then  how  handsome  the  girls  looked  as  they  waited  on  the 
table! 

But  why  two  threshing  floors  ?  Because  the  size  of  the  bam 
necessitated  it.  My  grandfather  had  a  barn  of  the  same  type,  but 
shorter;  he  had  but  one  threshing  floor  in  it,  for  the  reason  that 
he  could  pitch  from  either  mow  onto  that  threshing  floor.  This 
could  not  be  done  in  a  barn  seventy  feet  long.  The  mows  were  at 
either  end,  each  seventeen  feet  wide ;  and,  to  save  time  in  pitching, 
each  required  a  threshing  floor  adjacent,  wide  enough  to  store  a 
day's  threshing  of  grain. 

The  other  way  of  threshing  was  tramping  it  out  with  horses. 
This  method  was  not  used  with  grain  except  to  supply  the  family 
with  flour  until  threshing  could  be  done.  For  you  must  understand 
that  in  my  early  days  we  did  not  buy  flour  at  the  store,  by  the  sack 
or  barrel.  When  we  wanted  flour,  a  three-bushel  bag  was  filled 
with  wheat,  thrown  on  the  horse's  back,  a  boy  put  on  top,  sent  to 
the  mill  a  mile  away,  and  told  to  wait  until  the  grist  of  grain  was 
ground,  and  bring  home  the  flour,  bran  and  shorts,  less  the  miller's 
toll— one-tenth.  He  was  told  he  might  go  fishing  while  he  waited, 
if  he  liked.  This  was  my  job  for  some  years,  and  I  remember  that 
the  three-bushel  sack  lasted  us  about  ten  days.  That  was  some 
years  after  we  built  the  new  house,  however,  and  had  plenty  of 
company.  As  it  required  a  man  to  put  three  bushels  of  wheat  (180 
pounds)  on  the  back  of  a  rather  large  horse,  if  the  boy  let  the  bag 
fall  off,  as  I  one  time  did,  all  he  could  do  was  to  wait  until  someone 
came  along,  put  the  bag  on  the  horse,  and  lifted  him  on  top  of  it. 

Corn  was  nearly  always  tramped  out,  the  threshing  floor  being 
covered  to  a  depth  of  about  a  foot.  The  horses  went  around  and 
around  on  the  floor,  a  small  boy  usually  claiming  the  privilege  of 
riding,  an  attendant  shoveling  the  com  out  of  the  center  into  the 
track  of  the  horses,  and  shoveling  back  into  the  center  the  shelled 
corn  and  cobs. 

To  get  the  hay  and  grain  into  the  barn,  the  loaded  wagons 
were  driven  into  one  or  the  other  of  the  threshing  floors,  and  the 
load  pitched  by  hand  into  the  mows  on  either  side.     Great  beams 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  45 

were  placed  crosswise  of  the  threshing  floor,  about  the  height  of 
the  bam,  which  was  about  the  height  of  the  loaded  wagon.  On  these 
beams,  platforms  were  made,  the  hay  or  grain  was  pitched  onto 
these  platforms  from  the  wagon,  again  pitched  into  the  mow,  and 
then,  by  another  hand,  pitched  back,  with  one  or  two  boys  to  tramp 
— hot  work  on  a  hot  day.  After  the  mows  were  filled,  one  thresh- 
ing floor  was  filled,  and  afterward  the  space  over  the  other — these 
last  mainly  with  grain,  preferably  oats. 

If  you  are  interested  in  farm  matters,  which  I  hope  you  are, 
you  may  want  to  know  what  kind  of  a  com  crib  we  had.  Well, 
you  would  have  laughed  at  it.  It  was  four  feet  wide,  eight  feet 
high,  and  long  enough  to  hold  the  bulk  of  the  crop.  It  was  located 
four  to  six  rods  from  the  barn.  As  I  remember  it,  it  held  about 
six  hundred  bushels.  The  rest  was  left  in  the  shock,  for  we  nearly 
always  harvested  our  entire  corn  crop,  and  husked  it  as  need  be 
after  hauling  the  fodder  to  the  barn.  Farmers  in  those  days  never 
would  have  thought  of  committing  the  extravagance  of  wasting  the 
forage.  The  reason  for  the  narrow  crib  was  the  very  significant 
one  that  corn  would  not  keep  in  that  country  in  a  wide  crib. 


The  New  House 


OUR  new  house  was  the  pride  of  the  neighborhood  when  it  was 
built,  in  1848.  At  that  time  there  were  five  of  us  children,  I 
being  the  oldest.  A  house  with  six  rooms  at  the  most,  and  no 
cellar,  was  rather  small  for  a  family  of  that  size,  even  in  the  da3's 
of  trundle  beds  and  other  primitive  conditions.  Father  had  good 
reason  to  say,  as  I  often  heard  him,  as  an  excuse  for  building  the 
new  house,  that  they  "could  hardly  subsist  longer  in  the  old  house 
with  comfort." 

The  new  house  was  built  of  brick,  with  a  stone  foundation.  It 
was  for  the  main  part  the  same  size  as  the  old  house,  30x32  feet, 
but  it  had  two  full  stories  and  a  full  cellar,  with  four  rooms  equal  in 
size,  in  one  of  which  was  a  great  fireplace.  In  this  room  the 
washing  and  churning  and  rendering  of  lard  and  other  rough  work 
was  done.  Another  was  the  wool  room  ;  for  my  father  raised  sheep, 
and  if  the  price  did  not  suit  him,  he  kept  the  wool  crop  from  year 
to  year,  and  wisely  kept  it  in  a  cool,  damp  place,  where  there  would 
be  no  shrinkage  in  weight.  I  heard  when  a  boy  of  wool  growers 
who  kept  a  barrel  of  water  in  the  wool  room,  in  which  was  inserted 
a  woolen  cord  or  rope,  which  was  laid  back  and  forth  between  the 
layers  of  fleece,  the  idea  being  that  capillary  action  would  gradu- 
ally distribute  the  contents  of  the  barrel  between  the  fleeces,  and 
thus  prevent  them  from  drying  out.  My  father  did  not  do  this ; 
he  found  the  cellar  damp  enough  to  keep  his  wool  from  shrinking. 
"There  are  tricks  in  all  trades  but  ours." 

One  of  the  back  rooms  of  the  cellar  being  dark,  made  an  elegant 
place  for  storing  apples  during  the  winter ;  and  the  new  orchard 
having  begun  to  bear,  there  was  never  any  scarcity  of  apples  at 
our  house.  In  fact,  we  did  not  think  of  bringing  up  less  than  a 
good,  big  dishpanful  in  the  evening,  to  say  nothing  of  apple  pies 
and  apple  sauce  and  cider-apple  butter.  Occasionally  there  was 
plenty  of  cider,  and  my  mother  would  have  scorned  to  use  anything 
but  cider  vinegar. 


Uncle  Henry's  Own   Storv 


The  New  House,  Bailt  of  Brick  and  Stone  in  1848  at  a  Cost  of  $600  Cash,  Besides  Home  Labor. 


The  two  upper  stories  of  the  house  were  divided  into  four  rooms 
each.  All  the  downstairs  rooms  had  fireplaces,  but  not  those 
above ;  and  there  was  no  other  provision  made  for  ventilation.  This 
was  a  most  pitiful  mistake,  and.  I  think,  had  much  to  do  with  the 
early  death  of  all  my  brothers  and  sisters.  There  was  also  a  story- 
and-a-half  addition,  16x18  or  18x20,  I  don't  remember  which,  with 
a  broad  porch  to  the  south,  where  it  was  the  custom  to  eat  dinner 
and  supper  during  the  entire  sunmier  season. 

Nowadays,  and  I  have  no  doubt  this  will  be  none  the  less  true  in 
your  day,  it  is  very  little  trouble  to  build  a  house,  provided  3'ou 
have  enough  money.  Xo  doubt  3'our  folks  employ  an  architect, 
and  then  let  the  contract,  which  again  is  sub-let — contracts  for 
heating,  contracts  for  plumbing,  contracts  for  lighting,  contracts 
for  plastering,  contracts  for  painting,  etc. 

It  was  quite  different  in  my  boyhood  days.  We  had  never 
heard  of  an  architect.  The  plan  of  the  house  was  figured  out  a 
year  or  two  in  advance,  by  the  fireside.  Father  always  considered 
economy ;  hence  he  built  a  house  nearly  square,  and  the  rooms  were 
nearly  square,  so  that,  when  a  carpet  became  worn  at  some  point, 
it  could  be  turned  some  other  way,  and  still  fit  reasonably  well. 

The  first  thing  after  the  plans  were  made  was  to  get  the  brick. 


48  ■  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

They  could  not  be  bought,  but  must  be  made  on  the  farm,  and  that 
was  a  summer's  work  before  the  building  of  the  house  could  be  com- 
menced. Fortunately,  there  was  fairly  good  brick  clay  on  the 
farm,  and  water  convenient,  of  which  a  great  deal  was  required  in 
making  brick.  The  surface  had  first  to  be  stripped  off,  and  the 
brick  clay  dug.  This  was  done  the  fall  before,  in  order  to  utilize 
the  winter  frost.  It  was  then  put  into  a  mud-mill — a  very  simple 
affair  worked  by  one  horse — until  the  clay  was  thoroly  ground  and 
mixed.  The  clay  as  it  came  out  was  ready  for  the  molder,  who 
with  his  hands  filled  the  molds  with  this  well-mixed  mortar.  Then 
a  couple  of  boys,  of  which  I  was  one  at  least  part  of  the  time,  be- 
came "off-bearers" — that  is,  we  bore  or  carried  away  the  brick  onto 
a  suitably  sanded  floor,  on  which  they  were  laid  out  to  dry  and 
afterwards  turned.  (I  do  not  remember  the  details  of  this.)  They 
were  finally  ricked  up,  the  long  ricks  covered  with  boards,  and  when 
a  sufficient  number  were  made,  were  put  into  kilns,  much  of  the 
type  in  use  today.  Our  kiln  held  100,000.  Then  came  a  week  or 
two  of  burning  brick,  in  which  boys  and  men  kept  up  the  fires  all 
the  time.  There  was  a  day  shift  and  a  night  shift.  There  was 
great  fun  during  the  night  shift  in  roasting  young  corn,  roasting 
ears  we  called  them,  and  having  the  good  times  that  boj's  generally 
do  after  nightfall. 

The  next  thing  was  getting  out  the  lumber.  Pine,  as  I  recol- 
lect it,  was  used  only  for  inside  work,  for  window  frames,  sills  and 
such  like.  The  rest  of  the  lumber  was  secured  from  our  own  forest, 
or  "woods"  as  we  called  it.  The  trees  had  to  be  cut  down,  sawed 
into  logs  of  suitable  length,  these  hauled  on  the  log-sled  to  the  saw- 
mill, about  a  mile  away,  and  the  lumber  hauled  back.  .While  brick- 
making  furnished  a  summer's  work,  getting  out  the  timbers  for 
rafters,  joists,  plates,  etc.,  provided  a  good,  hard  winter's  work. 

Then  a  kiln  of  lime  had  to  be  burned  for  mortar  for  the  bricks 
and  for  plaster.  In  this  lime  kiln  was  placed  a  little  white  lime- 
stone, which  was  the  deposit — almost  pure  carbonate  of  lime — in 
the  rocky  bed  of  a  stream  which  carried  water  heavily  impregnated 
•with  limestone.      This  was  for  the  white-coat. 

There  were  no  labor  unions  in  that  day.  Carpenter  work  was 
taken  by  the  job,  and,  if  my  memory  serves  me  right,  it  cost  $120 
for  a  ten-room  house  with  four  large  rooms  in  the  cellar,  practi- 
cally a  fourteen-room  house.  I  do  not  remember  the  wages  paid 
the  bricklayers  or  the  mortar  men.  I  do  remember  very  distinctly 
that  I  was  very  ambitious  to  tend  the  bricklayers  by  carrying  the 
brick  up  the  inclines ;  but  after  I  reached  the  second  story,  I  was 
compelled  to  give  up.  I  never  could  keep  my  head  if  I  went  much 
above  the  earth's  surface.      (Nor  I  might  say  ever  since,  if  I  got 


Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story  49 

too  far  ahead  of  the  convictions  of  tlie  best  people.)  Other  boys 
could  walk  the  joists  in  the  second  story  and  in  the  tliird  story, 
could  walk  along  the  top  of  the  brick  wall  when  finished,  could  get 
up  on  the  roof  and  help  shingle — but  I  never  could.  I  remember 
I  cried  about  it  when  I  had  to  give  up,  and  everybody  hooted  and 
laughed  at  me,  which  did  not  mend  my  feelings  a  little  bit. 

At  that  time,  in  building  brick  houses,  we  knew  nothing  about 
building  hollow  walls,  nor  did  we  understand  what  has  since  been 
called  furring,  that  is,  nailing  on  strips  before  putting  on  the  lath, 
so  as  to  leave  a  dead  air  space  between  the  plastering  and  the  brick. 
The  result  was  that  except  in  the  rooms  where  there  was  fire  con- 
tinually in  the  winter  season,  the  walls  became  damp.  This  was 
particularly  true  in  the  northwest  corner  downstairs,  the  spare 
room,  which  had  but  one  window  in  it.  I  noticed  that  the  paper  on 
it  became  moldy  in  the  course  of  three  or  four  months  during  the 
winter  season.  This  lack  of  proper  ventilation,  I  believe,  had 
much  to  do  with  the  ill-health  of  the  family.  None  of  my  brothers 
or  sisters  lived  to  be  thirty,  and  all  of  them  died  with  some  form  or 
other  of  consumption,  with  the  exception  of  little  Mary,  who  died 
of  dysentery  when  about  two  years  old. 

Possibly  there  may  have  been  infection  from  tuberculous  cattle ; 
I  suspect  there  was.  I  am  quite  sure  there  was  among  the  hogs, 
which  means  that  there  was  among  the  cattle;  for,  when  butchering 
time  came,  my  mother  always  inspected  the  livers,  and  threw  out 
the  spotted  ones.  We  now  recognize  these  spots  as  indications  of 
tuberculosis.  But  whether  the  disease  originated  in  the  barnyard 
or  not,  or  whether  it  was  contracted  in  one  of  the  many  other  ways 
in  which  tuberculosis  can  be  contracted,  in  some  way  all  of  the 
younger  children  were  infected,  none  of  them,  however,  before  I  left 
home,  which  was  when  I  was  eighteen.  I  suppose  the  only  reason  I 
did  not  share  the  fate  of  the  rest  uf  the  family  was  because  I  lived 
the  rest  of  my  life  in  an  entirely  different  environment.  In  those 
days,  physicians  knew  nothing  of  the  germ  theory  nor  of  the  meth- 
ods of  infection.  The  disease  was  looked  upon  as  practically  in- 
curable. When  a  physician  saw  that  there  was  no  hope,  he  ordered 
the  patient  to  Cuba,  just  as  in  later  years  they  were  sent  first  to 
Minnesota,  then  to  Colorado,  then  to  California,  and  now  to  the 
dry  climates  of  New  Mexico  and  Arizona.  Up  to  the  time  when 
my  brothers  contracted  the  disease,  there  was  no  healthier  family 
in  all  the  country  than  ours. 

This  will  explain  why  I  give  so  much  space  to  describing  the 
new  house.  First,  I  want  you  to  understand  the  difficulties  in 
building  a  house  then  as  compared  with  now ;  and,  second,  to  show 


50  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

the  immense  value  of  pro\  ision  for  ventilation  in  any  house  in  any 
country,  where  it  is  hoped  to  rear  a  family. 

It  need  not  be  said  that  this  house  contained  no  modern  con- 
veniences, no  plumbing,  no  toilet  conveniences — a  wash  basin  and 
pitcher  of  water  on  a  stand  in  the  spare  room,  that  is  all.  The 
rest  of  us  washed  in  the  kitchen,  or  sometimes  at  a  stand  outdoors. 
My  father  had  no  lack  of  means,  and  the  arrangement  of  this  house 
was  practically  that  of  every  other  house,  even  the  best  in  the  coun- 
tr}^  at  that  early  period.  There  was  scant  provision  for  putting 
away  clothes.  There  were  no  wardrobes  built  in  the  house,  but 
plenty  of  hooks  behind  the  doors  and  at  different  places  in  the 
rooms.  We  never  thought  of  screening  the  porch,  for  no  one  had 
yet  discovered  that  mosquitoes — of  which  there  was  one  every  now 
and  then,  and  sometimes  several — distributed  malaria,  or  that  the 
fly  was  the  modern  Beelzebub.  But  do  not  imagine  for  a  moment 
that  we  had  no  comfort  in  that  home ;  for  it  was  one  of  the  very 
best  in  the  neighborhood. 

The  total  cost,  that  is,  the  money  actually  paid  out  in  cash,  was 
about  $600,  as  I  remember.  It  would  cost  probably  $6,000  now, 
and  possibly  even  more  in  your  generation.  Like  the  barn,  how- 
ever, it  lasted.  "Age  does  not  wither"  it,  and  it  is  practically  as 
good  as  ever.  All  it  has  needed  has  been  rc-nainting  every  few 
years,  and,  like  the  barn,  re-shingling  now  and  then.  It  will  be 
good  a  hundred  years  from  now ;  for  it  was  not  built  for  specula- 
tion, but  for  a  home,  and  to  last.  Is  it  any  wonder,  considering  the 
way  houses  were  built  then,  that  families  were  more  deeply  attached 
to  them  than  to  those  built  in  later  days.? 


Transportation 


IN  no  one  respect  has  there  been  greater  changes  in  the  last  sixty 
or  seventy  years  than  in  transportation;  and  the  end  of  im- 
provement in  that  direction  is  ncit  3'et.  In  my  early  boyhood 
there  were  no  railroads  in  that  part  of  the  country.  The  first  road 
(the  Pittsburg  and  Connellsville,  now  part  of  the  Baltimore  and 
Ohio)  Avas  built  when  I  was  about  thirteen.  I  knew  the  whistle  of 
every  engine  on  that  road.  I'here  were  five  of  them.  Two  or* 
three  years  later,  the  Pennsylvania  road  was  built.  The  Pennsyl- 
vania canal  had  been  built  some  3'ears  previous ;  but  it  was  quite  a 
distance  from  our  home,  and  therefore  I  knew  nothing  about  it. 
You  may  wonder  how  a  canal  could  be  built  across  the  Allegheny 
mountains.  It  was  not,  but  at  a  cei'tain  point  the  canal  boats  were 
taken  up  over  the  mountains  and  let  down  on  the  other  side  into 
another  canal,  on  what  was  called  an  inclined  plane. 

Before  these  early  railroads  came  in,  the  transportation  was 
either  by  wagon  or  by  water.  There  had  always  been  more  or  less 
traffic  down  the  Youghiogheny  river.  The  heaviest  part  of  it  was 
coal,  which  was  taken  out  of  a  mine  in  what  is  now  known  as  the 
Connellsville  region,  loaded  into  coal  boats,  which  were  about  16 
feet  wide,  100  feet  long,  and  8  feet  deep,  and  floated  down  the 
river  in  the  wake  of  high  water.  The  reason  was  that  when  the 
river  was  rising,  being  higher  in  the  middle,  the  tendency  was  to 
float  the  boats  to  the  shore ;  but  when  it  was  falling,  being  lower  in 
the  middle,  it  was  comparatively  easy  to  keep  them  in  the  channel. 
•  These  boats  were  steered  by  large  oars  at  either  end.  When  they 
came  down  to  Pittsburgh,  they  were  grouped  together  and  steered 
down  the  river  by  a  kind  of  steamboat,  of  a  kind  I  have  never  seen 
anywhere  else.  A  number  of  these  boats  were  lashed  together  end 
to  end,  the  steamer  took  hold  of  the  hindmost,  and  by  a  skill  which 
was  acquired  only  by  experience,  steered  them  down  the  tortuous 
channel  to  Cincinnati,  Louisville,  Vicksburg  or  New  Orleans.  Here 
the  coal  was  sold,  and  also  the  lumber  of  which  the  boats  were  con- 


52  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

structed,  and  the  boatmen  got  back  home  the  best  way  they  could. 

Lighter  loads  were  taken  in  what  are  known  as  keel  boats, 
guided  by  oars,  floated  down  stream,  and  either  floated  back  or 
towed  back  by  steamers  as  far  as  navigation  extended,  and  pushed 
up  the  smaller  streams  by  men  Avith  poles.  A  man  standing  in  the 
boat,  with  a  long  pole  to  his  shoulder,  could  push  (or  pole,  as  we 
called  it)  where  rowing  Avould  be  utterly  impossible.  This,  how- 
ever, applied  only  to  certain  kinds  of  traffic. 

All  the  dry  goods  had  to  be  hauled  over  the  mountains  on  Can- 
istoga  wagons.  These  were  large,  broad-tired,  hoop-covered  wag- 
ons, the  cover  rising  at  both  ends  much  after  the  fashion  of  the  old- 
style  poke  bonnet  that  the  Avomen  wore  to  church  during  my  earliest 
recollections.  They  were  drawn  by  teams  of  from  four  to  six 
horses,  which  were  also  called  Canistoga  horses,  a  breed  developed 
in  Pennsylvania,  the  stock  of  which  unfortunately  has  been  lost.  I 
imagine  the  term  "stogy,"  applied  to  a  brand  of  cigars  made  in  that 
region,  is  simply  a  contraction  of  the  word  Canistoga. 

The  government  had  laid  out  a  series  of  what  were  known  as 
national  roads,  running  from  New  York  thru  Philadelphia,  thru 
the  principal  cities,  and  westward  as  far  as  Indianapolis.  In  short, 
before  the  time  of  railroads,  the  macadam  road  was  regarded  as 
the  only  practical  means  of  transportation  across  the  mountains 
and  out  to  the  inland  prairie  country.  These  roads  wtre  well  laid 
out,  always  seeking  the  best  grades  over  hills  and  mountains,  and 
were  the  main  channels  of  communication. 

The  merchants  bought  goods  twice  a  year.  The  modern  "drum- 
mer" was  unknown  in  those  days.  The  passenger  trade  was  car- 
ried in  Avhat  were  known  as  Concord  coaches,  holding  four,  six  or 
eight  persons,  witli  a  "boot"  behind  for  the  baggage.  They  were 
driven  by  four-horse  teams  of  a  lighter  type  of  Canistoga  horses, 
the  horses  being  changed  every  eight  or  ten  miles. 

Along  these  same  roads  traveled  the  great  herds  of  cattle,  hogs 
and  sheep  that  were  needed  to  supply  the  wants  of  the  eastern  mar- 
kets. During  the  summer  season,  one  was  scarcely  out  of  sight  of 
these  great  droves.  Every  few  miles  along  these  roads  were  what 
were  known  as  taverns,  which  furnished  accommodation  for  man 
and  beast.  The  houses  were  large  and  roomy,  the  barns  large,  the 
water  supply  abundant,  and  the  farms  mostly  laid  out  in  pasture.  " 

Persons  who  complain  of  the  discomforts  of  modern  travel,  on 
the  best  trains,  with  parlor  cars  and  Pullmans,  with  electric  lights 
and  other  conveniences,  and  who  complain  still  more  bitterly  of 
travel  on  branch  roads,  should  have  the  experience  of  a  couple  of 
days  and  nights  of  travel  on  the  old-fashioned  Concord  coach.     I 


Uncle  Henry's.  Own  Story  53 

tried  it  but  once,  when  I  first  went  from  my  home  to  the  academy. 
The  journey  was  130  miles,  and  at  the  end  of  the  trip  I  was  as 
nearly  done  for  as  I  have  ever  been  in  my  life.  Sea-sickness  is  no 
comparison  to  what  I  suffered.  We  were  bumped  and  jostled  and 
pounded  over  macadam  roads,  not  of  the  best,  going  downhill  on 
the  trot,  and  coming  into  town  on  tlie  gallop;  for  the  drivers  in 
those  days  blew  their  horns  when  they  approached  a  town,  and 
drove  in  much  after  the  style  in  which  a  judge  in  England  or  Ire- 
land approaches  the  courthouse  to  open  court. 

The  horses  used  for  hauling  merchandise  and  pulling  the  Con- 
cord coaches  were  somewhat  less  in  size  than  our  draft  horses,  much 
more  active,  with  far  better  legs  and  feet,  and  it  is  a  national  mis- 
fortune that  this  breed  passed  out  soon  after  the  immediate  neces- 
sity for  them  ceased.  They  were  reared  in  the  limestone  valleys 
in  Pennsylvania  and  Ohio.  The  splendid  blue  grass  pastures  gave 
them  size.  The  character  of  the  soil  gave  them  bone;  and  men 
gradually  adapted  them  to  the  work  which  was  required  in  those 
days. 

There  must  have  been  lively  times  at  the  taverns.  There  was 
always  a  bar ;  for  a  tavern  without  a  bar  would  have  been  like  the 
play  of  Hamlet  with  Hamlet  left  out.  There  was  no  end  of  com- 
pany, tho  perhaps  not  of  the  most  polite  sort. 

In  order  to  avoid  toll,  for  there  was  a  toll-gate  every  two  or 
three  miles,  with  a  pole  which  could  be  let  down  directly  across  the 
way  in  case  the  drover  hesitated  about  paying,  the  drovers  some- 
times left  the  pike  west  of  West  Newton,  crossed  over  Budd's  Ferry, 
and  came  past  our  schoolhouse,  catching  the  pike  again  farther  on, 
where  the  roads  were  inferior  or  perhaps  impassable.  It  was  a 
great  day  at  our  schoolhouse  when  we  heard  the  bawling  of  cattle 
or  the  squealing  of  pigs  or  the  bleating  of  sheep;  for  even  old  Billy 
demons'  one  eye  could  not  watch  all  of  us.  It  was  most  interest- 
ing to  note  the  length  of  the  horns  of  those  western  cattle ;  and  it 
was  then  that,  for  the  first  time,  I  detected  what  we  now  call  actini- 
mycosis  or  "lumpy-jaw"  of  cattle.  We  were  always  on  the  look- 
out for  steers  with  lumpy-jaw,  which  affected  cattle  even  that  far 
back. 

By  and  by  the  railroads  came,  and  the  tavern  keepers  and  men 
who  had  pastures  on  the  roadside  to  let,  were  in  despair.  An  enter- 
prising Pittsburgher  named  Billy  Lorimor  conceived  the  idea  that 
by  slacking  the  Youghiogheny  from  McKeesport  to  West  Newton, 
some  fifteen  or  sixteen  miles,  and  then  planking  the  turnpike  from 
there  to  Cumberland,  a  distance  of  some  seventy  miles,  and  putting 
on  a  line  of  steamers   and  stages,  they   could  compete  with   the 


54  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

Pennsylvania  railroad.  Looking  back  at  it  now,  it  seems  like  a 
fool's  dream — as  in  the  end  it  proved  to  be.  The  first  thaw  in  the 
spring  took  out  all  the  dams  used  to  slack  the  river,  pushed  the  old 
"Thomas  Shriver"  and  one  or  two  of  the  other  boats  which  ran  in 
connection  with  the  stage  on  the  plank  road,  up  on  the  bank,  and 
left  them  there.  The  project  was  abandoned,  but  the  plank  road 
was  still  there.  As  the  country  was  a  hilly  one,  and  the  farmers 
frequently  had  to  rough-lock  their  wagons  going  downhill  with  a 
heavy  load,  the  friction  of  the  tire  on  the  planks  made  the  iron  red- 
hot  and  set  the  wheel  on  fire.  Then  the  question  was  where  to  find 
water  to  put  out  the  fire. 

I  remember  a  discussion  in  the  harvest  field  when  the  Pennsyl- 
vania road  was  built,  while  the  men  were  eating  their  "piece."  It 
was  the  custom  in  harvest  time  to  send  a  boy  out  with  a  "piece"  at 
half-past  ten  o'clock.  This  consisted  of  bread  and  butter,  cold 
chicken  or  cold  meat,  custard  pie,  coffee,  and,  on  some  farms,  some- 
thing stronger.  While  the  men  Avere  eating  their  lunch  one  day, 
being  the  carrier,  I  naturally  listened  to  the  rather  interesting  dis- 
cussion between  my  father  and  some  of  the  neighbors,  as  to  the 
effect  of  this  building  of  railroads  on  the  business  of  growing  horses 
— for  that  was  a  country  of  draft  horses.  Every  neighbor  but  one, 
as  I  recollect  it,  contended  that  it  would  be  the  ruin  of  the  draft 
horse  business.  My  father,  who  was  an  unusually  far-seeing  man, 
took  an  entirely  opposite  view.  He  held  that  the  building  of  rail- 
roads would  build  up  cities ;  that  these  would  require  more  draft 
horses  than  had  ever  been  heard  of  before ;  and  said  that  he  now 
proposed  to  go  into  the  breeding  of  draft  horses  more  strongly 
than  ever,  and  advised  the  neighbors  to  do  the  same.  In  this,  as  in 
most  other  things,  his  judgment  proved  to  be  correct. 

The  building  of  these  national  roads,  temporary  as  they  proved 
to  be,  were  still  a  vast  improvement  on  anything  they  had  before. 
They  were  for  the  time  being  a  national  necessity.  Prior  to  that 
time,  farming  could  be  carried  on  only  near  the  streams,  a  dis- 
tance over  which  it  was  possible  to  haul  the  grain.  The  grain 
was  hauled  to  mills  or  distilleries,  of  which  there  were  great  num- 
bers in  the  country  on  the  streams,  wherever  there  was  a  mill  site 
or  a  fall  which  would  give  water  power.  It  was  then  ground  into 
flour,  which  could  be  more  easily  transported  than  the  wheat.  For 
the  same  reason,  the  rye  and  a  good  deal  of  the  corn  was  converted 
into  whisky. 

The  building  of  the  railroads  and  the  consequent  disuse  of  the 
turnpike  changed  the  class  of  live  stock.  Prior  to  the  time  of  the 
railroads,  the  hog  that  could  not  walk  to  market  was  of  no  use. 


I 


Uncle   Henry's  Own   Story  55 

Hence  hogs  were  bred  not  exactly  for  speed,  but  for  ability  to  walk 
to  market.  There  was  no  baby  beef ;  for  the  steer  could  not  travel 
over  the  mountains  unless  he  had  length  of  limb.  The  hogs  were 
large,  rangy,  sometimes  white,  but  more  frequently  black  and  white, 
and  at  a  year  and  a  half  old  would  develop  into  about  300  pounds 
in  weight.  The  brood  sows  were  terrors,  and  woe  to  the  boy  who 
interfered  with  their  little  pigs  !  The  railroad  has  shortened  the 
nose,  shortened  the  legs,  done  away  with  the  bristles,  and  put  a 
more  lovely  kink  in  the  tail,  as  well  as  changed  the  color  from  mixed 
black  and  white  to  white,  or  black,  or  red. 

The  same  change  has  taken  place  in  the  type  of  cattle.  The 
cattle  of  those  da3's  were  of  no  particular  breed,  altho  occasionally 
we  could  see  in  the  droves  that  passed  our  schoolhouse  types  of 
what  I  now  recognize  as  Short-horn  blood.  In  fact.  Short-horns 
were  being  introduced  in  our  neighborhood.  They  were  roans,  and 
beefy.  My  mother  objected  to  them  on  the  ground  that  the  heif- 
ers from  these  cows  were  poor  milkers  in  which  I  have  no  doubt  she 
was  entirely  correct. 

The  sheep  in  those  days  were  mostly  merinos — not  the  heavy, 
wrinkled  type,  with  a  skin  about  fifty  per  cent  larger  than  neces- 
sary to  cover  the  body,  but  smooth,  dark,  and  with  oily,  fine  wool, 
and  smaller  than  our  mutton  breeds,  of  which  we  heard  nothing 
then.  There  was  also  a  larger  type  of  native  sheep,  with  rather 
long,  white  and  somewhat  coarse  wool,  and  occasionally  one  entire- 
ly black.  Women  liked  this  black  wool  for  stockings,  because  it 
was  not  necessary  to  dye  it,  and  there  was  no  danger  of  its  fading 
in  the  wash. 


A  Scene  on  the  Turnpike 

I  HAVE  given  you  a  brief  and  rather  imperfect  description  of 
the  transportation  in  my  early  days.      I  will  now  try  to  give 

you  a  pen-picture  of  what  you  might  see,  and  what  I  have  often 
seen  on  a  trip  to  town,  in  which  we  passed  over  two  or  three  miles  of 
this  turnpike,  or  "national  road." 

But  first  I  must  tell  you  a  little  story  about  my  Uncle  Billy : 
As  I  have  told  you,  when  pastures  were  short  along  the  turnpike, 
and  more  plentiful  at  some  distance,  and  when  the  dirt  roads  were 
good,  drovers  often  left  the  turnpike,  crossed  at  Budd's  Ferry,  and 
came  past  the  old  schoolhouse.  A  hog  drover  came  along  one  day 
and  rented  a  night's  pasture  from  Uncle  Billy,  whose  farm  touched 
the  roadside.  The  next  morning,  my  Uncle  Billy  took  a  walk  out 
over  the  pasture  to  see  if  everything  was  all  right.  I  might  say 
that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  lose  a  hog  from  these  droves ;  for 
if  one  got  tired  and  gave  out,  he  was  sure  to  follow  the  drove,  for 
hogs  have  a  scent  almost  equal  to  a  dog's,  and  will  follow  a  trail. 
My  uncle  found  no  hogs,  but  found  a  lone  little  pig,  possibly 
•dropped  in  the  night.  At  any  rate,  it  was  there,  and,  being  a  very 
compassionate  man,  he  took  the  little  fellow  in  his  arms,  carried 
him  home,  and  gave  him  to  a  little  orphan  girl  whom  he  was  raising, 
as  he  was  childless  himself,  and  told  her  she  could  have  it.  Of 
course,  he  built  a  little  pen  for  it,  and  of  course  that  pig  grew,  for 
it  had  the  choice  of  the  slops  and  waste. 

We  boys,  when  we  went  to  my  uncle's,  were  fond  of  teasing  that 
pig  and  seeing  him  fight.  He  finally  learned  to  jump  out  of  the 
pen.  Another  board  was  put  on,  and  he  learned  to  jump  that, 
finally  becoming  unmanageable,  and  was  put  out  in  the  herd. 
Uncle  Billy  had  a  fashion  of  walking  over  his  farm  every  Sabbath 
afternoon,  especially  his  pastures,  while  meditating,  no  doubt,  on 
the  uncertainties  of  life,  meanwhile  keeping  his  eyes  open  to  see  that 
nothing  was  going  wrong.  In  the  course  of  his  meditations,  he 
noticed  that  the  pig,  now  grown  to  be  quite  a  hog,  was  eyeing  him 
with  suspicion  as  a  poacher  on  his  preserves,  meanwhile  champing 
and  frothing  at  the  mouth,  as  male  hogs  do  when  suspicious  of 
strangers. 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  57 

Uncle  Billy  was  <a  short  man,  with  an  unusually  long  body  and 
short  legs,  and  he  concluded  that  discretion  was  the  better  part  of 
valor,  and  began  a  masterly  retreat  in  the  direction  of  a  rail  fence. 
There  were  no  barbed  wire  fences  in  those  days,  and  few  of  boards, 
the  fences  being  nearly  all  made  of  rails,  laid  in  the  fashion  of  what 
we  then  called  a  worm  fence.  Meanwhile,  the  hog  had  also  begun 
to  move  in  the  direction  of  that  fence,  and  Uncle  Billy  moved  a  little 
faster.  The  hog  likewise  moved  faster — more  champing  and  more 
frothing.  Finally,  Uncle  Billy  ran  as  fast  as  his  short  legs  and 
heavy  body  could  go.  and  it  was  a  question  as  to  which  would  get  to 
that  fence  first.  Uncle  Billy  was  just  a  little  too  late,  for  just  as 
he  reached  the  fence,  the  hog  made  a  strike  at  him,  upward,  as 
hogs  strike,  and  sadly  marred  Uncle  Billy's  Sunday  suit,  besides 
leaving  a  mark  on  one  of  his  short  legs  that  might  have  proved 
serious,  had  he  not  been  a  man  of  clean  life  and  simple  habits.  I 
did  not  hear  what  became  of  that  hog,  but  I  can  guess.  When 
Uncle  Billy  was  out  of  danger,  we  laughed  a  good  deal  about  his 
masterly  retreat. 

Now,  as  to  what  3'ou  see  on  the  turnpike.  You  have  been  to 
town,  and  are  returning  home.  Just  as  you  are  ready  to  start,  in 
comes  the  stage,  the  horses  trotting  down  the  long  hill,  nearly  a 
mile  long,  which  brings  3^ou  from  the  uplands  into  the  town  and  the 
valley.  As  it  passes  thru  the  town,  the  driver  blows  his  horn  and 
the  horses  come  in  on  the  full  gallop.  If  you  are  right  close,  youl 
may  see  Henry  Clay,  for  he  often  traveled  this  road  on  his  return 
from  Washington  to  Kenlucky.  You  may  see  a  governor  or  a 
congressman  from  Ohio  or  Indiana.  You  will  see  merchants  from 
the  states  farther  west,  going  home  after  buying  goods.  If  there 
are  any  women  in  the  coach,  they  will  excite  your  compassion. 
They  will  be  too  sick  to  eat  anything,  but  the  kind  old  landlady, 
Mother  Yowry,  comes  out  with  coffee  or  tea. 

As  you  go  up  the  long  hill,  you  will  probably  see  a  Pennsylvania 
Dutch  farmer  and  his  wife  in  a  broad,  roomy  buggy,  or  possibly  on 
a  farm  wagon,  quiet,  placid,  contented  ;  the  horses  smooth  and  sleek 
and  fat ;  the  wagon  well  filled  with  purchases.  There  is  peace  in 
their  hearts  and  contentment  on  their  faces.  After  a  slight  de- 
cline, the  road  begins  to  climb  Miller's  Hill,  one  of  the  highest 
points  in  that  country,  and  as  it  rounds  the  crest,  you  look  down  on 
the  narrows,  which  have  been  cut  thru  to  furnish  water  for  the  first 
paper  mill  ever  started  in  western  Pennsylvania.  This  was  built 
by  General  Markle,  who  once  ran  for  governor  on  the  Whig  ticket, 
but  was  defeated. 

From  the  top  of  Miller's  Hill,  I  once  looked   down   upon  a 


58  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

scene  I  shall  never  forget.  To  the  north  of  it  lies  the  Barren  Run 
range — not  mountains,  but  a  ridge  of  hills  of  poor  soil,  thrown  up 
after  the  great  beds  of  coal — with  which  this  section  was  covered — 
were  laid  down,  throwing  out  the  coal.  Beyond  it  you  may  see  the 
Chestnut  Ridge  mountains,  and,  on  a  clear  day,  rising  beyond 
them.  Laurel  Hill.  Between  the  Barren  Run  range  and  the  Chest- 
nut Ridge,  in  the  valley,  lies  the  great  coking  vein  of  coal,  of  which 
we  have  heard  so  much.  It  was  early  morning,  and  bright  and 
clear.  (I  was  teaching  in  West  Newton  at  that  time,  and  tak- 
ing a  "constitutional''  before  breakfast.)  The  fog  was  rising  from 
the  streams  and  valleys,  and  as  I  watched  it  rise,  it  shut  out  from 
my  view  completely  the  Barren  Run  ridge,  until  there  was  a  sea  of 
fog — level  and  still — over  which  nothing  could  be  seen  except  the 
Chestnut  Range. 

As  you  climb  the  hill,  you  pass  a  drove  of  hogs.  It  is  now 
pretty  near  sundown,  and  every  particular  hog  is  squealing.  Their 
appetites  will  soon  be  satisfied,  for  IVIiller's  tavern  is  just  half  a 
mile  ahead.  You  will  meet,  perhaps,  climbing  the  hill  on  the  other 
side,  a  Canistoga  wagon.  It  is  drawn  by  six  horses,  weighing 
about  fourteen  or  fifteen  himdred  pounds  each,  of  no  particular 
color,  but  clean  of  limb,  and  every  horse  has  his  weight  thrown  on 
the  collar,  climbing  the  hill  slowly  and  patiently.  You  notice  the 
driver.  He  drives  with  a  single  line,  but  rides  the  saddle  horse, 
Avhich  is  the  near-side  horse  behind.  He  sits  in  a  saddle  with  long 
flaps.  He  has  in  his  hand  a  blacksnake  whip,  which  will  crack 
more  sharply  than  any  Fourth  of  July  firecracker.  You  may  won- 
der how  he  guides  these  horses  with  a  single  line.  The  line  passes 
thru  the  hames  of  the  middle  span  of  horses,  and  with  it  he  guides 
the  lead  horse,  usually  the  most  intelligent  animal  in  the  team. 
The  off  lead  horse  is  guided  by  a  jockey  stick,  one  end  of  which  is 
fastened  to  the  hamcs  of  the  lead  horse,  and  the  other  to  the  bridle 
of  the  off  lead  horse.  He  guides  the  off  saddle  horse  with  his 
whip,  and  reaches  with  it  the  middle  ones  if  necessary.  He  is  load- 
ed with  dry  goods  and  other  merchandise,  and  will  take  back  a  load 
of  flour.  Behind,  on  the  rear  of  his  wagon,  is  the  feed  box,  a  long 
box  in  which  he  feeds  his  horses;  under  it,  the  tar  bucket,  oil  can, 
and  other  necessary  articles.  You  will  pass  a  drove  of  cattle  next, 
on  their  way  to  the  next  tavern ;  and  so  on,  day  after  day,  never 
out  of  sight  of  hogs,  cattle,  sheep,  coaches  and  Canistoga  horses 
and  wagons.  For  this  is  one  of  the  great  "national  roads,"  which 
wore  quite  as  essential  to  the  life  of  the  nation  in  those  days  as  are 
the  railroads  of  today. 


How  My  Father  Farmed 

MY  father's  farm  contained  about  150  acres.  Part  of  it  was 
very  steep,  a  north  hillside,  on  which  grew  naturally  sugar 
trees,  black  walnuts  and  black  locusts.  The  ridge  thru  the 
middle  of  the  southern  slope  was  clay  loam  and  loamy  clay  land, 
excepting  a  couple  of  points,  that  were  tenacious  limestone  clay. 
The  rest  of  the  farm  was  bottom  land,  the  bed  of  an  ancient  lake, 
long  since  drained  out  naturally,  but  which  needed  drainage,  and 
which  my  father  eventually  tile  drained  by  putting  a  drain  every 
thirt3'-three  feet. 

The  rotation  was  corn,  oats,  winter  wheat  and  clover  and  tim- 
othy, with  a  field  or  two  laid  down  to  permanent  blue  grass  pas- 
ture. We  kept  from  four  to  six  cows,  raised  their  calves  by  hand, 
and  bought  in  enough  to  make  a  lot  of  ten  or  twelve  steers  for  win- 
ter feeding.  Enough  brood  mares  were  kept  to  do  the  work  on  the 
farm,  and  some  colts  were  grown  every  year.  The  rest  of  the  pas- 
tures, especially  those  of  blue  grass,  were  given  up  to  merino  sheep. 

The  tools  on  the  farm  were  very  simple.  There  was  the  wooden 
plow  with  the  metal  mold-boards,  a  removable  share  with  a  long 
point,  which  had  to  be  kept  in  order  by  a  file  or  taken  to  the  black- 
smith shop,  for  in  those  heavy  clay  lands,  it  wore  out  rapidly.  The 
harrow,  up  to  the  time  I  was  about  thirteen  years  of  age,  was  the 
ordinary  straight-tooth  harrow.  The  grain  was  cut  with  a  cradle, 
the  down  spots  being  taken  up  with  the  sickle.  When  we  raised 
rye,  it  was  always  cut  with  the  sickle,  so  as  to  keep  the  straw 
straight  for  tying  the  corn  shocks,  or  to  cut  up  in  the  feed  cutter, 
to  be  mixed  with  shorts,  wetted,  as  a  summer  feed  for  horses.  The 
other  tools  were  a  wagon,  a  bob-sled,  hand  rakes,  and  afterwards  a 
Wooden  horse  rake,  which  sometimes  tumbled  (dumped)  when  vou 
wanted  it  to,  and  at  other  times  tumbled  twice  when  you  wanted  it 
to  tumble  but  once.  There  was  also  a  heavy  roller,  made  out  of  a 
big  log — home-made,  of  course. 

Corn  was  grown  generally  on  sod  broken  up  in  the  late  fall  or 


60  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Storj- 


The  Old  Wallace  Farmstead,  Showing  New  House  and  Barn  With  Spring  House  Between. 
Photo  Taken  in  1914. 

winter;  for  there  was  seldom  a  year  in  which  we  could  not  plow 
some  time  during  the  winter.  The  advantage  in  winter  plowing 
was  that  it  did  not  matter  how  wet  the  land  was,  because  the  sub- 
sequent freezing  would  correct  the  tendency  to  bake  or'brick.  We 
aimed  to  plow  about  eight  or  nine  inches  deep  for  corn,  throwing 
the  furrows  on  edge.  Without  disking,  and  with  nothing  but  the 
straight-toothed  harrow,  it  was  not  possible  to  make  much  of  a 
seed  bed.  This  disadvantage  was  overcome  by  what  is  known  as 
furrowing  out.  We  had  a  small  one-horse  plow,  called  a  Barshear, 
or  sometimes  a  "half-patent,"  for  what  reason  I  do  not  know,  with 
which  we  furrowed  out  the  corn  one  way,  having  the  rows  four  feet 
apart.  We  then  furrowed  out  crosswise,  and  the  coni  was  dropped 
by  hand  at  the  intersection  of  these  furrows,  and  covered  with  the 
hoe.  Usually,  the  man  who  covered  it  put  his  foot  on  the  top  of  the 
hill,  for  the  purpose  of  pressing  it  down,  and  thus  insuring  an  early 
germination. 

After  the  corn  was  up,  we  usually  harrowed  with  a  V-shaped 
harrow,  taking  out  the  first  front  tooth,  with  a  pole  strapped  at 
each  side  behind  it,  which  a  man  could  hold  in  his  hand.  He  could 
thus  harrow  one  row  at  a  time  quite  satisfactorily.  The  next  thing 
to  do  was  to  take  the  Barshear  plow  and  throw  a  light  furrow  away 
from  the  corn  row,  one  on  each  side,  leaving  the  row  of  corn  stand- 
ing on  a  narrow  strip,  possibly  six  inches  in  width,  if  the  corn 
was  dropped  properly.  The  next  thing  to  do  was  to  take  the  same 
plow  and  throw  this  furrow  back  to  the  corn,  thus  giving  plenty  of 
loose  dirt  for  the  now  spreading  roots.  We  rather  liked  to  have 
the  blue  grass  grow  in  the  middles,  as  it  furnished  food  for  the  cut- 
worms, which  then,  as  now,  were  dreaded  by  the  corn  grower. 


Uncle  Henr3''s  Own   Story  61 

There  being  a  good  deal  of  limber  left  in  the  country,  the  crows 
gave  us  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  because  the}'  managed  in  some  wav 
to  have  their  broods  come  out  about  the  time  the  corn  was  coming 
up,  and  they  found  that  by  pulling  up  the  corn  and  eating  tliu 
grain  at  the  root,  they  had  a  rather  delicious  morsel  for  their 
young.  We  made  rather  vain  attempts  to  scare  them  away  by  put- 
ting up  scare-crows  and  hanging  dead  crows  on  them.  We  boys, 
however,  preferred  to  take  considerable  time  and  hunt  the  crows' 
nests  in  the  timber.  We  sometimes  managed  to  kill  the  young  ones, 
but  the  old  ones  were  as  wise  then  as  they  are  today. 

The  next  thing  to  do  was  to  plow  out  the  middles,  sometimes 
with  a  bull-tongue  or  a  single-shovel  plow,  particularly  if  the  land 
was  stumpy  or  stony,  but  generally  with  a  double  shovel,  run  by 
one  horse.  The  idea  of  cultivating  two  rows  at  a  time,  as  by  the 
modern  cultivator,  had  never  entered  our  heads.  We  kept  up  this 
cultivation  until  the  corn  was  in  tassel,  having  a  sack  or  a  basket 
on  the  horse's  mouth,  to  keep  him  from  eating  the  leaves  or  stalks. 

When  harvested  in  the  fall,  the  corn  was  put  in  shocks,  eight 
hills  square,  that  being  as  large  as  it  was  supposed  the  climate 
would  permit.  We  regarded  fifty  bushels  as  a  good  yield.  In 
fact,  I  don't  know  that  we  ever  surpassed  it,  altho,  after  the  farm 
was  sold,  many  years  afterwards,  a  couple  of  fields  that  had  been 
let  lie  in  blue  grass  pasture  for  a  good  many  years,  yielded  seventy- 
five  bushels  of  shelled  corn  per  acre.  This  was  regarded  as  mar- 
velous. 

Oats  followed  corn,  and,  singularly  enough,  we  plowed  the  corn 
stubble.  Sowing  on  the  corn  stalks  and  harrowing  it  in,  as  is 
usually  done  in  the  west,  would  have  been  regarded  as  very  poor 
farming.  Possibly  it  would  have  been  so  in  that  section;  I  don't 
know.  The  oats  were  cut  with  the  cradle  when  ripe,  and  allowed  to 
lie  in  the  swath.  I  was  told  by  my  father  that  some  years  before 
my  recollection,  it  was  the  custom  to  let  them  lie  until  they  had  one 
heavy  rain,  the  reason  being  that  after  one  rain  they  threshed  out 
more  bushels ;  and  as  these  oats  were  usually  sold  to  the  tavern 
keepers  along  the  turnpike,  and  by  the  bushel,  there  was  no  par- 
ticular reason  for  getting  the  oats  in  Avithout  getting  wet.  Oats 
were  followed  by  wheat,  but  usually  after  the  manure  had  been 
hauled  out  and  turned  under  as  a  prepara,tion  for  the  wheat  crop. 

It  was  customary  to  plow  under  clover  when  in  blossom.  This 
was  discontinued  in  the  later  years  of  my  recollection.  Clover  and 
timothy  were  sown  on  the  frozen  ground,  and  were  not  harrowed 
in,  as  is  the  better  custom  in  modern  times. 

The  wheat  was  cut  with  a  cradle,  and  bound  up  and  shocked 


gg  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

immediately.  A  good  cradler  could  cut  three  acres  a  day,  and  re- 
ceived about  $1.25  a  day.  A  good  binder  could  "follow"  the 
cradler,  but  he  would  have  to  be  what  was  then  known  as  a  "good" 
man — that  is,  good  at  the  business.  For  the  term,  "a  good  man," 
in  those  days  had  a  somewhat  different  meaning  from  what  it  has 
now.  If  in  a  timber  country,  a  good  man  was  like  the  one  the 
psalmist  talks  about : 

"A  man  was  famous  and  was  had 
In  estimation. 

According  as  he  had  lifted  up 
His  ax  thick  trees  upon." 

There  was  great  strife  among  the  men  as  to  which  should  be 
regarded  as  the  best  cradler.  The  two  best  cradlers  in  our  neigh- 
borhood were  Leth  Wilgus  and  John  McClellan.  Wilgus  had  cut 
our  grain  for  years,  working  by  the  day.  He  finally  took  the 
contract  of  cutting  a  twelve-acre  field  for  four  dollars,  and  chal- 
lenged McClellan  to  a  contest.  The  neighbors  are  talking  yet 
about  that  day's  cradling.  McClellan  started  in  thru  the  middle 
of  the  field  at  the  usual  time  in  the  morning.  Wilgus  was  late, 
having  to  grind  his  scythe.  As  McClellan  came  back  on  the  first 
"thru,"  he  met  Wilgus,  who  politely  asked  him  to  wait  till  he  caught 
up  with  him.  McClellan  replied:  "I  will  just  go  on  slowly,"  but  in 
the  meantime  put  in  his  best  licks.  The  next  time  they  met,  Wilgus 
asked  him  again,  and  got  the  same  answer.  Wilgus  then  replied: 
"I  will  get  you  before  the  devil  gets  you,  if  he  doesn't  get  you  before 
night !" 

An  uncle  of  mine  and  I  were  taking  up  after  Wilgus,  and  two 
schoolmates  named  Mellender  were  taking  up  after  McClellan.  Our 
blood  was  up.  About  ten  o'clock,  my  father  came  out  and  told 
them  to  go  slow  and  take  it  easy.  Some  time  during  the  day,  Wil- 
gus caught  up  and  cut  around  McClellan.  At  noon,  my  father 
repeated  his  injunction.  I  think  he  was  more  solicitous  about  me 
than  anyone  else.  About  three,  he  came  out  and  issued  peremptory 
orders — but  they  were  absolutely  disregarded.  By  sundown,  the 
whole  field  was  cut,  with  the  exception  of  an  acre,  when  my  father, 
now  furious,  stopped  the  contest.  The  Mellenders  were  behind, 
but  my  uncle  and  I  kept  up. 

The  next  day,  Wilgus  finished  the  acre,  and  we  bound  up  what 
was  left  behind.  When  the  shocking  was  finished,  there  were  304 
shocks  of  a  dozen  sheaves  each.  This  has  ever  since  been  regarded 
us  the  biggest  job  of  cradling  ever  done  in  that  part  of  the  country. 


Uncle   Henry's   Own   fetory  (j{3 

The  hay  was  cut  with  the  scythe,  which  left  it  in  a  rather  heavy- 
swath,  that  had  to  be  shaken  out.  This  furnished  fine  employ- 
ment for  the  girls  and  boys,  provided  the  weather  was  not  too  hot. 
It  was  then  raked  up  by  hand,  and  when  the  swath  became  heavy, 
it  was  forked  into  wnidrows,  the  raker  following,  and  generally  put 
in  cocks.  If  the  weather  was  fine,  it  was  shaken  out  of  the  wind- 
row, forked  onto  the  wagon,  and  forked  off  into  the  barn.  All  this 
seems  crude  in  these  days  of  modern  improved  machinery. 

One  can  readily  see  that  the  live  stock  was  necessarily  limited 
on  the  farm,  as  it  would  be  impossible  to  furnish  the  hands  to  cut 
the  enormous  crops  since  grown  on  the  prairies  of  the  west.  I 
should  have  mentioned  that  the  wages  of  mowers  were  from  75 
cents  to  a  dollar ;  harvest  wages  for  men  were  75  cents,  for  boys, 
50  cents.  Until  the  advent  of  the  binder,  wheat  and  oats  were  put 
up  at  quite  as  low  a  cost  per  acre  m  those  days  as  in  modern  days. 
The  mower  and  hay  rake,  and  later  the  horse  fork  and  hay  loader 
and  buck  rake  have  further  revolutionized  the  methods  of  hay- 
making. 


Doctors  and  Medicine 

IX  my  boyhood  da^^s,  even  the  city  doctors  were  not  driven  about 
in  automobiles  by  chauffeurs,  nor  in  closed  carriages  by  driv- 
ers— reading  a  magazine,  medical  or  otherwise,  and  always  in 
a  rush,  as  if  on  urgent  calls.  The  country  doctors  always  rode 
horseback,  and  carried  their  medicine  with  them,  in  leather  bags, 
cue  on  each  side  of  the  saddle,  with  a  slit  in  it  thru  which  the  back 
part  of  the  saddle  protruded.  They  usually  lived  in  the  small 
towns  or  at  the  cross-roads  on  the  turnpike,  and  endeavored  to 
reach  on  the  same  trip  as  many  as  possible  of  their  patients  in  any 
given  quarter  of  their  territory.  We  did  not  have  to  decide  what 
kind  of  a  doctor  to  call,  for  there  was  but  one  school  of  medicine 
then — what  we  now  call  the  allopathic,  or,  to  use  their  own  lan- 
guage, the  "medical  profession." 

In  our  neighborhood,  we  did  not  hear  for  a  long  time  of  homeo- 
paths, and  when  they  did  appear  later,  they  were  derided  as  '"little 
pill"  doctors,  whose  medicine  was  harmless  if  an  overdose  was 
taken,  and  useless  in  the  ordinary  doses.  We  did  not  have  eclectic 
doctors.  There  were  no  magnetic  healers  then,  and  osteopathy 
was  as  yet  unheard  of. 

We  did  not  have  the  variety  of  diseases  then  with  which  we  are 
now  afflicted.  We  had,  of  course,  measles  (two  kinds,  the  black 
and  the  other  kind),  whooping-cough,  chicken-pox,  scarlet  fever, 
mumps,  malaria,  sometimes  smallpox.  We  did  not  have  tubercu- 
losis, but  consumption — two  kinds,  tlie  galloping,  where  the  patient 
died  in  a  few  months,  and  the  other  kind,  where  he  lingered  from 
3'ear  tq  year.  We  had  rheumatism,  oftener  called  "rheumatlz." 
We  did  not  have  paranoic  people,  nor  neurasthenics,  but  we  did 
have  hysterics.  When  some  people  had  it,  it  was  called  by  the 
shorter  name  of  "sterlcs" ;  and  the  excuse  was  made  that  he  or  she 
(generally  she)  was  a  "stericky"  person,  and  no  sympathy  was 
wasted  on  her.  We  never  heard  of  the  multitude  of  diseases  now 
well  known,  ending  In  "osis"  and  "Itls." 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  65 

We  did  not  have  appendicitis,  but  we  did  have  inflammation  of 
the  bowels — the  same  disease  under  a  different  name.  We  had 
boils,  and  always  in  the  most  uncomfortable  places.  A  very  com- 
mon location  was  on  the  back  of  the  neck,  where  we  could  not  see  it, 
but  we  could  always  feel  it.  The  proper  course  was  to  poultice  it, 
or,  as  the  grannies  would  say,  "bring  it  to  a  head."  There  were 
various  poultices — bran,  slippery-elm  bark,  flaxseed.  When  the 
boil  was  properly  brought  to  a  head,  after  several  days  of  careful 
nursing,  then  it  must  be  opened.  The  operator  made  a  small  open- 
ing in  the  "ripe"  boil,  with  a  needle  or  sharp  pen-knife,  then  gently 
squeezed  with  his  fingers,  with  good  results.  It  was  a  comfort  to 
the  sufferer  to  feel  the  contents  running  down  on  the  bare  flesh, 
and  to  hear  the  comments:  "That's  good!  That's  worth  five 
dollars !"  Five  dollars  was  the  usual  estimate  put  upon  the  value 
of  a  boil,  on  the  theory  that  there  was  corruption  of  that  value 
worked  out  of  you.  It  was  regarded  as  a  process  of  physical 
sanctification. 

Then  we  had  felons,  usually  on  the  thumb.  The  cure  for  a 
felon  was  to  hold  it  in  lye,  just  as  hot  as  could  be  borne,  and  as 
long  as  you  could  endure  it.  We  did  not  have  scrofula,  but  we  did 
have  white  swelling;  and  when,  for  any  reason,  any  part  of  the  body 
began  to  swell  up  and  distend  without  any  boil  or  gathering,  it  was 
regarded  as  a  case  of  dropsy,  or,  as  usually  pronounced,  "drop- 
asy."  If  the  complexion  turned  sallow  and  stayed  so  for  a  long 
time,  the  person  had  the  jaundice,  or  what  was  known  in  local  par- 
lance as  "yellow  janders." 

We  did  not  usually  send  for  the  doctor  unless  a  person  was 
quite  sick.  Wlien  an  addition  to  the  family  was  expected,  it  was 
customary  to  send  for  him  ;  but  our  women  in  those  days  were  a 
good  deal  like  the  women  among  the  children  of  Israel  in  Egypt. 

]\Iedical  practice  has  changed  a  good  deal  since  my  early  days. 
The  doctor  then  did  not  come  nearly  so  often,  but  when  he  did  there 
was  serious  business  on  hand.  The  doctor  did  not  write  prescrip- 
tions then,  but  carried  his  medicines  with  him.  In  addition  to  his 
drugs,  he  carried  "pullicans,"  to  extract  teeth,  and  sometimes  took 
what  the  neighbors  called  "a  piece  of  the  jaw,"  which  we  now  know 
Was  only  a  portion  of  the  alveolar  process,  and  not  of  the  jaw  at  all. 
He  always  carried  a  lance,  and  if  he  thought  you  had  too  much 
blood,  he  relieved  you  of  some  of  it.  He  was  likely  to  either  bleed 
you  or  blister  you,  or,  in  extreme  cases,  "cup"  you,  that  is,  burn 
some  paper  in  an  ordinary  tumbler,  thus  creating  a  partial  vacuum 
— and  then  put  it  down  on  your  flesh  where  there  was  some  inward 
pain  he  could  not  reach,  and  allow  the  flesh  to  be  sucked  up  and 


66 


Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story 


The  Old  Spinning  Wheel.  Which  Was  Part  of  the  Equipment  of  Every  Pioneer  Household. 


filled  with  blood.  After  removing  the  cup,  he  scarified  the  surface, 
and  was  thus  "getting  the  bad  blood  out  of  you."  If  none  of  these 
remedies  were  indicated,  or  if  they  failed,  then  he  gave  you  a  dose  of 
calomel  (blue  mass)  and  followed  it  with  jalap  or  some  other 
physic.  Occasionally  leeches  were  indicated.  After  the  doctor's 
visit,  you  either  got  better  or  worse,  much  as  nowadays.  In  short, 
the  rule  was : 

"Puke,    purge,   bleed    and    sweat    'em. 
And  if  they  die,  v/hy,  let  'em." 

It  was  seldom  thought  necessary  to  send  for  a  doctor  for  a 
young  person,  except  in  the  case  of  smallpox  or  dysentery,  which 
last  v»as  somewhat  common  along  in  the  fall  of  the  year.  If  a  boy 
had  been  eating  too  many  green  apples  or  plums,  and  there  was 
trouble  in  the  "department  of  the  interior,"  that  could  be  remedied 
by  giving  him  a  dose  of  lobelia,  a  herb  which  every  good  housewife 
took  care  to  keep  in  stock.  If  he  was  bilious,  the  proper  thing  to 
do  was  to  give  him  thoroughwort  tea,  made  from  a  weed  which  grew 
in  moist  places.      Babies,  of  course,  were  generously  supplied  with 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  GT 

catnip.  It  was  supposed  that  "sheep-saffron"  tea  would  "bring 
out"  measles.  It  was  easy  enough  to  induce  little  children  to  drink 
that ;  but  when  a  boj^  was  ten  or  twelve  years  old,  and  became  wise 
as  to  what  this  sheep-saffron  was,  he  would  rather  have  the  measles 
stay  in  than  to  bring  them  out  by  drinking  this  tea. 

If  any  boy  had  the  "bark"  knocked  off  of  his  hands,  or  had  a 
slight  cut,  and  it  did  not  heal,  but  festered  around  the  edges,  then 
we  knew  that- his  blood  was  out  of  order.  If  it  was  in  the  spring 
of  the  3'ear,  he  was  dosed  with  sassafras  tea,  or  "sassafrax,"  as  we 
called  it.  If  this  was  not  convenient,  epsom  salts  were  sure  to  "cool 
the  blood."  A  bottle  of  castor  oil  was  always  handy.  If,  after 
once  tasting  it,  the  boy  did  not  take  it  readily  the  second  time,  it 
was  easy  to  put  your  arm  avound  his  head,  take  hold  of  his  nose 
with  the  left  hand,  and  handle  the  spoon  with  the  right.  I  am  told 
that  castor  oil  has  been  much  improved  in  flavor  of  late  years,  and 
disguised  in  various  ways.      I  am  glad  of  it. 

There  was  another  remedy  that  was  always  kept  on  our  man- 
tel. If  any  of  us  youngsters  was  "simmet"  at  breakfast,  and  did 
not  appear  well  during  the  day,  whether  the  feeling  was  the  result 
of  unwillingness  to  go  to  the  corn  field,  or  work  in  the  garden,  or 
not,  there  was  always  kept  on  the  mantel-piece  a  fruit  jar  or  other 
vessel  filled  with  some  Avhitish  stuff  (I  have  always  supposed  it  was 
some  kind  of  soda  mixed  with  flowers  of  sulphur,  what  we  now 
know  as  sulphur).  A  spoonful  of  this  in  some  molasses,  or  a 
threat  of  it,  usually  worked  a  cure. 

I  really  do  not  know  whether  the  death-rate  was  larger  then 
than  now.  I  am  very  sure  the  doctor  bills  were  less,  and  that  the 
medicine  was  not  nearly  so  pleasant.  Except  in  the  case  of  hys- 
terics and  boys  inclined  to  be  lazy,  there  was  no  letting  on  that  you 
were  sick.  A  case  of  nervous  prostration  was  never  heard  of,  for 
the  reason  that  we  all  had  too  much  to  do  to  think  of  ourselves. 
Thinking  about  yourself,  your  troubles,  and  your  diseases,  whether 
real  or  imagined,  is  generally  the  cause  of  nervous  prostration. 
Some  of  the  old  ladies,  however,  took  solid  comfort  in  talking  over 
their  troubles  and  the  diseases  thru  which  they  had  safely  come. 
I  used  to  think  some  of  them  derived  a  good  deal  of  pleasure  out 
of  their  sorrows. 

If  a  wart  appeared  on  the  hand,  the  thing  to  do  was  to  wait  till 
the  new  moon,  take  a  piece  of  side-meat,  look  at  the  moon  over  the 
left  shoulder,  rub  the  wart  with  the  side-meat,  and  then  bury  the 
meat  under  the  eave,  repeating  the  formula : 

"As  thou,  moon,  increases, 
This  wart  decreases." 


68  Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story 

I  tried  this  once  without  much  faith  in  it ;  but  in  the  course  of  a 
few  days  or  weeks,  the  wart  became  itchy  and  peeled  off — whether 
from  this  cause  or  not,  1  can  not  say. 

There  was  a  certain  bone  in  a  hog's  head,  which  a  smart  boy 
might  discover  when  the  hog  was  being  cut  up  after  butchering, 
which,  when  carried  in  the  pocket,  was  regarded  as  a  sure  cure  or 
preventive  of  toothache.  It  was  marvelous,  also,  to  see  how  soon 
the  toothache  quit  after  the  doctor  appeared  with  his  "pullicans." 
I  had  some  experience  in  that  line  when  a  boy,  when  it  was  my  job 
to  turn  the  fanning  mill,  or,  as  we  called  it,  the  wind  mill,  and  I  was 
begging  off  on  the  plea  of  having  a  toothache.  This  time  I  was 
sent  to  the  doctor's,  but  the  toothache  disappeared  before  I  got  to 
town. 

We  had  a  similar  primitive  way  of  handling  diseases  of  live 
stock.  If  a  cow  got  sick  and  the  horns  felt  cold,  then  it  was  a  case 
of  "hollow  horn,"  usvially  accompanied  by  "wolf  in  the  tail."  The 
proper  thing  to  do  was  to  get  a  plentiful  supply  of  red  pepper, 
bore  a  hole  in  the  horn,  work  in  red  pepper  thru  a  quill,  then  split 
the  tail  for  about  six  inches,  and  tie  it  up  with  fat  meat,  plentifully 
sprinkled  with  red  pepper.  If  a  brood  sow  became  weak  in  the 
back,  and  was  not  able  to  rise,  she  was  supposed  to  have  kidney 
worm,  and  the  remedy  was  to  feed  her  corn  boiled  in  wood  ashes. 
Occasionally,  the  feeding  steers  had  "foot-ail,"  caused  by  tramping 
thru  the  muddy  barnyards  in  winter.  The  proper  thing  was  to 
apply  turpentine  to  a  rope  and  run  it  thru  the  clefts  of  the  hoof. 
I  hope  to  be  forgiven  for  whatever  share  I  had  in  applying  these 
cruel  "remedies"  to  live  stock. 

Of  course,  we  knew  nothing  of  germs  or  germ  diseases,  either  in 
men  or  animals. 


Manners  and  Customs 

THO  human  nature  in  all  generations  is  essentially  the  same, 
manners  and  customs  differ  from  generation  to  generation. 
For  example,  the  love  that  grows  up  between  young  men  and 
maidens  in  every  generation  is  essentially  the  same.  By  some  mys- 
terious law  of  attraction,  which  even  they  themselves  do  not  under- 
stand, the  young  man  is  attracted  to  the  maiden  and  the  maiden 
to  the  man.  They  have  the  same  hopes,  delusions,  lovers'  quarrels, 
reconciliations — but  the  manner  of  expressing  them  changes  some- 
what. 

In  the  days  of  my  youth,  the  young  man  did  not  buy  a  shiny 
red  buggy  and  go  in  debt  for  it  when  he  was  courting.  Instead,  he 
managed,  if  possible,  to  get  a  good-looking  horse,  saddle  and  bridle. 
If  we  younger  boys  saw  any  of  the  older  boys  taken  with  a  sudden 
love  of  horseflesh  and  the  trappings  thereof,  and  saw  one  of  them, 
in  the  cool  of  the  summer  evening  or  in  the  storms  of  winter, 
dicssed  in  his  best  "bib  and  tucker,"  going  to  a  certain  house  along 
al)out  eight  or  nine  o'clock,  we  knew  there  was  something  going  on. 
If  the  horse  was  tied  to  the  hitching  post,  we  knew  there  was  noth- 
ing serious  as  yet;  but  if  the  young  man  piit  his  horse  in  the  barn 
and  took  off  the  saddle,  then  it  was  evident  that  he  had  become  a 
"steady,"  and  something  pleasant  was  imminent.  If  there  was  a 
quilting  bee,  and  certain  mysterious  nods  and  winks  among  the 
girls,  then  we  were  quite  sure  of  it. 

When  the  engagement  came,  as  it  generally  did  in  due  time, 
there  was  no  diamond  engagement  ring,  frequently  no  ring  at  all, 
sometimes  a  plated  gold  ring  with  two  hearts  held  together  by  a 
Cupid's  arrow.  There  were  no  pre-nuptial  dinners,  no  "showers." 
The  wedding  was  rather  a  simple  affair.  Among  the  more  well- 
to-do,  a  preacher  was  called  upon  to  tie  the  knot.  Among  those 
of  little  financial  or  social  standing,  a  visit  to  the  'squire  in  the 
neighboring  town  was  all  the  wedding  there  was.  There  was  no 
license  law  in  those  davs,  nor  for  long  afterwards.      If  vou  and 


fO  Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story 

your  sweetheart  were  agreed,  and  a  preacher  or  a  'squire  was 
handy,  a  brief  ceremony  was  all  there  was  of  it.  Among  the  well- 
to-do  and  those  of  some  social  standing,  there  was  usually  consider- 
able of  a  wedding — that  is,  a  number  of  guests,  relatives,  neighbors 
and  friends  were  invited,  and  there  was  a  dinner — the  best  the  house 
could  afford.  The  bride  and  groom  did  not  go  on  a  "bridal  tower," 
but  usually  spent  the  first  evening  and  night  at  the  bride's  home. 
The  next  day  was  the  "infair,"  or  the  reception  at  the  home  of  the 
bridegroom,  and  it  was  a  matter  of  pride  on  the  part  of  his  folks 
to  have  the  dinner  as  sumptuous  and  elaborate  as  that  given  by  the 
bride's  folks.  After  that,  the  young  folks  settled  down  in  their 
own  home,  which  usually  had  been  provided  and  furnished  before- 
hand. 

There  were  elopements  then,  and  separations,  just  as  there 
have  been  from  the  beginning  of  time,  and  will  be  to  the  end,  I  sup- 
pose. There  were  some  funny  advertisements  in  the  paper,  how- 
ever. In  case  the  wife  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  "vamoosed," 
the  husband  put  an  advertisement  in  the  county  paper,  substan- 
tially as  follows  (I  quote  from  memory)  :  "Whereas,  my  wife, 
Elizabeth,  has  left  my  bed  and  board  without  due  cause  or  provo- 
cation, I  hereby  warn  all  persons  from  harboring  her,  as  I  will  pay 
no  bills  on  her  account." 

Sickness  and  death  came  then  much  as  now.  In  our  neighbor- 
hood, a  hired  nurse  was  never  heard  of.  There  were  always  one  or 
more  women,  married  or  singk; — mostly  single — who  were  nurses 
by  instinct ;  and  these  were  called  upon  in  case  of  sickness.  Every 
neighbor  felt  himself  bound  to  lend  aid  in  this  time  of  trouble;  for 
he  did  not  know  when  he  or  his  might  be  in  like  need.  Where  a 
night  watch  was  required,  there  were  usually  two,  one  watching 
till  one  or  two  o'clock,  and  the  other  from  that  till  daylight.  We 
k«€w  that  some  diseases  were  "catching,"  but  we  had  never  heard 
of  bacilli,  microbes  or  germs.  Unfortunately,  we  did  not  know 
much  about  sanitation,  and  hence  there  was  more  risk  in  waiting 
upon  the  sick  than  there  is  under  modern  conditions  in  the  average 
home. 

We  had  never  heard  of  embalming  the  dead,  except  from  the 
Bible,  and  no  undertaker  was  called  in.  If  a  man  died,  the  body 
was  washed  and  dressed  by  some  men  in  the  neighborhood;  if  a 
woman  or  child,  by  some  neighboring  women.  It  was  then  laid 
out  on  the  "cooling  board"  and  a  watch  kept.  There  was  always 
a  "wake";  that  is,  a  couple  of  neighbors  sat  up  in  the  same  room 
or  in  an  adjoining  room,  with  the  door  open  between,  with  other 
doors  and  all  windows  closed,  for  fear  of  cats,  which  it  was  believed 


Uncle   Henry's  Own   Story  71 

were  ever  eager  to  disfigure  the  body  of  the  dead.  An  undertaker 
furnished  the  coffin  and  hearse,  unless  the  family  was  in  rather 
poor  circumstances,  in  which  case  the  farmer's  spring  wagon  took 
the  place  of  a  hearse.  It  was  considered  a  very  neighborly  act  to 
dig  the  grave  for  a  neighbor;  for  there  were  no  incorporated  ceme- 
teries and  no  sexton  to  do  it.  There  was  no  decoration  of  the 
grave,  no  lining  with  cotton  and  evergreens.  There  was  no  me- 
chanical arrangement  by  which  the  body  could  be  slowly  lowered. 
This  was  done  with  lines,  generally  taken  from  the  farmer's  har- 
ness. Two  at  each  end  lowered  the  coffin  into  a  rough  box ;  then 
lowered  the  lid.  The  family  stood  by  until  the  neighbors  filled  up 
the  grave  quite  full,  smoothing  and  leveling  the  surface.  It  was 
regarded  as  rather  bad  form  for  an}'  of  the  family  to  leave  until 
he  had  seen  the  last  shovelful  of  earth  put  upon  the  grave  and 
smoothed  down.  Funerals  were  generally  well  attended.  Some 
kind  neighbor  or  neighbors  stayed  at  the  house,  to  prepare  dinner 
or  supper  for  the  returning  mourners,  v.'ith  some  near  friends  who 
were  invited  to  dine  with  them. 

There  were  no  costly  tombstones  in  the  graveyard — a  plain 
slab,  sometimes  of  native  sandstone  or  slate,  a  narrow  one  if  placed 
upright,  and  wide  if  placed  horizontally,  and  sometimes  a  small 
monument  of  marble,  with  an  inscription,  frequently  accompanied 
by  a  line  of  poetry-,  marked  the  resting-place  of  the  dead.  These 
country  graveyards  grew  up  then,  as  they  do  now,  with  brush  and 
briers ;  but  it  was  customary  for  the  neighbors  to  meet  once  every 
two  years  and  clean  them  up,  making  needed  repairs  and  filling  up 
the  graves  that  had  settled  in  the  meantime. 

Birthdays  were  not  much  regarded  in  my  young  days,  except 
by  the  children.  They,  like  children  now,  were  anxious  to  get  old 
fast,  looking  forward  with  glad  anticipation  to  the  time  when  the 
girls  would  be  eighteen  and  the  boys  twenty-one,  when  they  were 
said  to  be  "of  ase."  We  had  fewer  holidays  then  than  now.  We 
celebrated  the  Fourth  of  July,  never  working  on  that  day  unless 
there  was  danger  of  losing  the  wheat  harvest.  It  was  celebrated 
more  in  the  way  of  picnics  and  family  gatherings  than  by  Fourth 
of  July  orations.  In  fact,  I  can  not  remember  that  I  ever  heard 
a  Fourth  of  July  oration  until  after  I  was  twenty-one.  Some 
small  respect  was  paid  to  Washington's  birthday  in  the  larger 
towns,  but  not  in  the  country.  Thanksgiving  was  usually  cele- 
brated by  a  good  dinner  at  home,  sometimes  a  turkey,  sometimes 
not — but  with  nothing  like  the  elaborateness  of  the  Xew  England 
Thanksgiving.  There  was  religious  service  in  the  towns.  A  few 
years  before  the  breaking  out   of  the  Civil  War,  the  preachers 


72  Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story 

availed  themselves  of  this  opportunity  to  express  their  views  on 
national  subjects.  The  people  of  the  opposite  party  regarded  this 
as  "preaching  politics,"  and  did  not  feel  under  any  particular  obli- 
gation to  attend.  In  the  country,  we  usually  went  hunting  or 
attended  a  turkey-shoot  or  vaffle. 

Not  very  much  attention  was  paid  to  Christmas.  We  Calvin- 
ists  had  an  idea  that  an  elaborate  celebration  of  Christmas  indi- 
cated a  leaning  tov^ard  popery.  We  usually  had  a  good  Christmas 
dinner,  however,  and  if  there  was  a  turkey  shoot  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, it  was  all  right  to  go  and  take  a  shot.  We  paid  little  or  no 
attention  to  New  Year's  Day  except  to  settle  up  book  accounts 
with  the  storekeeper  or  the  neighbors.  The  ordinary  farmer  who 
went  to  the  store  to  settle  up  his  account,  and  found  there  w'as 
nothing  coming  to  him  en  account  of  the  butter  and  eggs  that  his 
farm  had  furnished  during  the  year,  was  rather  out  of  sorts,  but 
felt  happy  if  there  was  a  comfortable  balance  due  him  for  the 
produce. 

The  presents  given  to  the  children  at  Christmas  would  surprise 
you  by  their  meagerncss  and  simplicity'.  There  were  no  wax  or 
bisque  dolls,  no  dolls  that  could  talk  or  cry,  or  that  needed  elabor- 
ate clothes.  If  a  little  girl  wanted  a  doll,  she  generally  made  it 
herself,  but  she  thought  quite  as  much  of  it  as  of  an  expensive  one. 
In  fact,  I  think  she  thought  a  good  deal  more  of  it,  even  tho  it  was 
made  of  a  kershaw  squash  or  rags.  In  either  case,  it  served  as  an 
expression  of  the  latent  instinct  of  motherhood  natural  to  the  fe- 
male sex,  without  regard  to  race,  wealth,  education,  position,  or 
anything  else. 

The  birth  of  a  child  in  the  family  was  regarded  as  a  great 
event,  especially  by  the  older  children,  tho  there  was  not  very  much 
said  about  it.  I  remember  when  my  sister  Margaret  was  born. 
It  was  in  hay-making  time.  My  father  had  a  very  intimate  friend 
who  neighbored  Avith  him  a  good  deal,  and  I  wondered  the  next 
morning  that  he  did  not  say  aijvthing  about  the  new  baby.  We 
were  raking  hay,  I  leading  and  the  two  older  men  following.  My 
father  said  nothing  about  it  till  about  half-past  ten  o'clock,  and 
then  said : 

"George,  we  had  an  addition  to  the  family  last  night — a  girl." 
George  answered:  "The  usual  good  luck,  I  suppose.^" 
My  father  said,  "Yes,"  and  that  was  all  there  was  of  it.  It 
was  assumed  that  children  would  come  to  every  family  about  every 
other  year,  or  at  least  every  third  year,  that  everything  would  go 
well,  and  that  the  mother  would  be  up  and  about  in  nine  days,  or 
in  ten  at  the  farthest.      Of  course,  the  neighbor  women  came  to 


Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story  78 

look  the  new  arrival  over.  The  old  grandmothers  put  on  their 
spectacles  and  said:  "Lawsy  me!  Vv'hich  side  of  the  family  docs 
she  take  after?"  on  which  point  there  was  very  naturally  difference 
of  opinion.  For  my  part,  I  never  could  see  that  the  baby  took 
after  either  side. 

The  money  in  circulation  in  my  earliest  day  was  largely  Span- 
ish coin,  which  was  brought  into  that  section  from  New  Orleans  by 
men  who  floated  coal,  grain,  whisky,  etc.,  in  keel  boats  or  flat  boats 
down  the  Mississippi  river,  and  received  this  coin  in  exchange,  com- 
ing back  thru  the  southern  states,  generally  on  horseback.  The 
denominations  were  dollars,  half-dollars,  quarters,  eleven-penny 
bits  (121/2  cents),  and  five-penny  bits  (6I4  cents),  and  also  big 
coppers  or  cents.  Gold  was  rarely  seen.  There  was  no  national 
currency.  Paper  money  was  issued  by  the  state  banks,  and  every 
farmer  who  handled  any  money  worth  while  had  to  keep  a  monthly 
bank-note  detector,  with  plates  of  the  genuine  and  the  counterfeit. 
The  notes  of  Pennsylvania  and  Kentucky  were  generally  good,  but 
those  of  the  western  states,  even  if  genuine,  were  extremely  doubt- 
ful, and  it  was  hardly  safe  for  the  farmer  to  keep  them  over  night. 
We  did  not  then  have  the  variety  of  money,  all  good,  that  we  have 
now — gold  certificates,  silver  certificates,  greenbacks,  national 
bank  notes,  money  orders,  express  orders,  etc.  There  was  no 
temptation  to  hoard  money  except  gold  or  silver. 


A  Glimpse  of  the  Big  World 

UNTIL  I  was  thirteen  years  old,  I  had  never  been  away  from 
home,  save  to  church  and  town,  three  miles  away,  except 
once.  I  shall  never  forget  this  journey,  twelve  miles.  I  was 
never  on  a  railroad  train  until  I  was  eighteen,  when  I  attended  the 
state  fair  at  Pittsburgh,  held  in  what  is  now  one  of  the  finest  resi- 
dential portions  of  that  city.  The  only  impression  that  remains 
of  the  state  fair  is  an  exhibition  of  a  reaper.  I  forget  the  name 
of  the  patentee,  but  we  called  it  the  man-binder,  because  the  bind- 
ing attachment  was  an  imitation  of  a  man,  with  a  long  arm  which 
reached  around  when  the  sheaf  was  cut,  gathered  it  up  with  the 
fingers,  pressed  it  against  an  iron  apron,  swung  one-third  around, 
and  dropped  the  sheaf.  I  might  say  here  that  my  father  bought 
the  first  one  in  that  part  of  the  country,  as  he  usually  bought  the 
first  improved  machinery.  I  remember  that  it  cost  $300,  and  I 
remember  the  crowd  of  neighbors  who  came  to  see  the  wonderful 
piece  of  machinery.  It  was  superseded  in  a  year  by  the  McCor- 
mick,  with  its  simpler  method  of  delivering  the  sheaf.  (All  this  by 
the  way ;  pardon  an  old  man  for  digressing. ) 

When  I  was  thirteen  years  of  age,  my  father's  youngest  broth- 
er, Daniel,  came  unexpectedly  to  our  home.  He  was  a  man  of 
commanding  presence,  and  the  neighbors,  when  they  became  ac- 
quainted with  him,  involuntarily  gave  him  the  same  profound  re- 
spect which  they  had  been  accustomed  to  give  to  my  father.  He 
was  about  thirty  years  of  age,  had  evidently  read  much  for  so 
young  a  man,  was  a  fine  conversationalist,  and  his  coming  gave 
me  a  glimpse — a  slight  glimpse,  it  is  true — of  the  big  world.  He 
was  born  in  the  north  of  Ireland,  on  the  same  farm,  of  course,  aSj 
my  father,  and  as  the  famine  had  been  raging  there  for  two  years, 
I  learned  why  my  father,  the  year  before,  had  shipped  some  con 
for  the  relief  of  the  Irish  people. 

The  fireside  talks  in  the  evening  became  intensely  interestingj 
He  told  us  of  the  famine  caused  hy  potato  rot,  which  lost  to  Ire 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  75 

land,  in  a  very  few  years,  one-fourth  of  her  population — thru  death 
and  emigration.  I  then  learned  of  my  paternal  grandfather, 
Henry  Wallace.  I  got  the  impression  that  he  was  a  quiet,  tiiought- 
ful  sort  of  man.  I  remember  my  uncle  telling  my  father  that  their 
father  was  deeply  affected  when  people  left  the  neighborhood  to  go 
to  America.  His  thought  was  of  his  oldest  son.  I  was  nmch  in- 
terested also  in  the  accounts  of  my  grandmother,  who  went  by  the 
name  of  Bebty  ]\IcHenry,  that  being  her  maiden  name.  I  got  the 
impression  that  she  was  a  very  strong  character — industrious,  ag- 
gressive, domineering,  resolute — who  ruled  my  grandfather,  pos- ' 
sibly  the  faniil}';  who  never  saw  any  girl  good  enough  for  any  of 
her  boys  ;  who,  in  short,  was  the  dominating  force.  Subsequent 
visits  to  the  old  home  neighborhood  in  Ireland  have  convinced  me 
that  my  impression  was  about  right.  She  evidently  was  not  the 
most  agreeable  woman  to  be  with,  but  she  put  "ginger"  into  the 
family.  With  all  this,  she  was  exceedingly  kind  and  helpful,  espe- 
cially to  the  poor.  The  neighbors  in  that  locality  still  talk  of 
Bett}'  McHenry's  soup,  which  was  given  freely  to  hungry  people, 
as  they  passed  the  place  coming  from  the  fair,  most  of  them  dinner- 
less.  I  learned  of  my  Uncle  Henry,  another  strong  character,  and 
my  Uncle  William,  perhaps  equally  strong,  who  was  pastor  of  a 
church.  These  things  may  not  be  especially  interesting  to  you, 
but  they  were  intensely  interesting  to  me  at  that  time. 

My  uncle  stayed  with  us  the  first  winter,  and  many  were  the 
discussions  to  which  I  listened,  to  use  the  old  saying,  "with  both 
mouth  and  ears."  He  was  an  aristocrat,  and  believed,  as  the  name 
implies,  in  the  rule  of  the  "best."  My  father  was  a  democrat, 
using  the  word  in  its  true  sense,  believing  in  the  rule  of  the  common 
people.  INIy  father  was  an  abolitionist,  while  my  uncle  believed 
that  the  colored  people  were  best  where  they  were,  and  were  un- 
fitted for  freedom.  Naturall)',  in  after  years,  when  questions 
growing  out  of  the  war  came  up  for  discussion,  my  uncle  became  a 
democrat  and  my  father  a  very  strong  republican. 

At  this  time,  the  repeal  of  the  com  laws,  next  to  the  famine,  was 
the  great  subject  of  discussion  in  Ireland.  Xaturally,  my  uncle 
believed  in  cheap  bread  for  the  starving  people,  and  honce  was  a 
free-trader,  and  my  father  was  a  protectionist ;  for  I  may  say  that 
the  repeal  of  the  corn  laws  was  simply  a  question  of  free  trade  or 
protection.  My  father  argued  that  to  encourage  importation  by 
free  trade  or  low  tariff  was  simply  importing  everything  that  went 
into  the  thing  imported.  He  would  say:  "We  have  coal  in  plenty; 
we  have  iron  ore.  WTiy  not  enact  a  tariff  that  will  encourage  the 
development  of  infant  industries.''"      He  argued  that  competition 


76  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

among  manufacturers  would  keep  down  the  price.  My  uncle  ar- 
gued that  the  nations  were  reall}^  one  family — that  each  one  could 
produce  something  cheaper  than  another;  that  every  man  had  a 
right  to  buy  where  he  could  buy  cheapest ;  that  raw  materials  for 
manufacturing  were  abundant  and  labor  cheap,  and  that  industries 
would  be  developed  naturally  in  due  time. 

This  was  my  first  introduction  to  the  tariff  question,  which  has 
not  been  settled  yet.  I  think  my  father  was  right  at  that  time. 
He  could  not  foresee,  nor  could  anyone  else,  the  combinations  that 
have  come  up  since,  and  the  possibility  of  infant  industries  being 
developed  at  the  expense  of  the  common  people  until  they  were  able 
to  dominate  congress  and  therefore  the  government. 

In  those  times,  before  the  questions  growing  out  of  the  war  be- 
came prominent,  people  who  were  at  all  religiously  inclined  thought 
a  good  deal  on  religious  questions.  One  of  the  subjects  that  was 
discussed  in  public  meetings,  some  of  them  attended  by  hundreds 
and  even  thousands,  was  the  issues  between  the  Presbyterians  and 
Methodists,  or,  as  they  were  then  called,  the  Calvinists  and  the 
Armenians.  My  father  was  a  staunch  Calvinist,  and  my  uncle — 
whether  for  the  sake  of  argument  or  from  conviction,  I  do  not  know 
— ^took  the  other  side,  and  the  fireside  arguments  were  often  quite 
warm.  I  remember  one  time  in  pai'ticular,  when  my  father  sat  on 
one  side  of  the  fireplace  and  my  uncle  on  the  other,  both  with  their 
feet  on  the  mantel.  My  uncle,  to  give  emphasis  to  his  argument, 
pushed  his  foot  against  the  mantel,  and,  as  he  w^as  a  large  man, 
this  shoved  the  hickory  chair  backward.  Being  made  of  w^ood  cut 
across  the  grain,  it  broke  in  perhaps  half  a  dozen  pieces.  My 
uncle,  however,  never  stirred  until  he  had  finished  his  argument. 
When  he  had  finished,  he  gathered  himself  up  and  remarked: 
"John,  I  believe  I  have  broken  this  chair,  and  will  have  to  get  it 
mended." 

One  thing  impressed  me  very  much,  that  neither  of  them  inter- 
rupted the  other  in  the  course  of  an  argument,  but  w^aited  until  he 
was  entirely  thru.  INIy  father  would  say:  "Are  you  thru,  Daniel.'"' 
or  my  uncle  would  ask:  "John,  are  you  thru?"  If  at  any  time, 
there  was  a  variation  from,  this  method — and  this  I  have  since  ob- 
served is  common  with  gentlemen  everywhere,  one  or  the  other  would 
say :  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  or  "Allow  me,"  or  "Wait  a  moment,  if 
you  please." 

Another  question  that  came  up  was  that  of  Psalmody.  My 
uncle,  being  a  member  of  the  Pi-esbyterian  Church  of  Ireland,  was 
accustomed  to  the  occasional  use  in  public  worship  of  paraphrase-, 
that  is,  portions  of  Scripture  outside  of  the  Book  of  '  ,  t' 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  '        77 

lated  or  converted  into  rhyme.  ]\[y  father  did  not  belieVe  in  un- 
inspired compositions  in  the  worship  of  God.  My  uncle  would 
quote  the  text  about  "Psalms,  hymns  and  spiritual  songs,  singing 
and  malcing  melody  in  your  heart  to  the  Lord."  My  father  would 
argue  that  these  were  simply'  different  terms  applied  to  different 
Psalms  of  different  character,  and  that  this  was  reall}^  the  strong- 
est possible  argument  in  favor  of  the  use  of  the  Psalms  of  David  in 
worship.  My  uncle  would  quote  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  argue  that 
if  my  father's  argument  was  correct,  we  should  limit  ourselves  to 
the  use  of  that  prayer.  My  father  would  quote,  "after  this  man- 
ner pray  3'e,"  and  argue  that  this  was  intended  simply  to  give  the 
main  heads  of  our  petitions,  and  that  the  words  were  not  to  be  used 
exclusively.  As  a  clincher,  my  father  would  say  something  about 
the  iniquity  of  "offering  strange  fire  to  the  Lord,"  referring  to  an 
event  in  the  wilderness  of  Sinai  well  known  to  Bible  readers,  I  do 
not  think,  however,  that  he  meant  to  press  this  home  very  closely. 

After  the  first  winter,  my  uncle  engaged  in  business,  but  was  a 
frequent  visitor  at  our  home,  and  when  business  was  slack,  would 
spend  a  week  or  more,  during  which  these  discussions,  and  in  later 
years  the  questions  that  at  that  time  occupied  the  public  mind, 
would  be  gone  over  and  over  again,  much  to  the  edification  of  us 
young  folks,  and  especially  myself,  as  I  was  the  oldest  of  the 
children. 

My  Uncle  Daniel  was  a  man  of  a  good  deal  of  tact.  My  father 
and  my  Uncle  Billy  had  got  into  trouble,  as  farmers  have  done  ever 
since,  over  a  line  fence.  Uncle  Billy's  house  was  off  the  main  road, 
and  he  had  been  accustomed  to  reach  this  road  thru  what  we  called 
the  bottom  field,  on  which  the  timber  had  been  deadened  so  as  to 
allow  the  field  to  grow  up  in  pasture.  When  my  father  fenced,  he 
put  the  fence  on  the  line,  arguing  that  my  uncle  had  a  way  thru  his 
own  land  out  to  the  road,  and  that  he  was  therefore  under  no  obli- 
gations to  give  him  the  right-of-way.  The  coolness  thus  started 
continued  for  years,  neither  of  the  men  speaking  to  the  other.  One 
day  they  met  accidentally  at  the  postoffice,  my  Uncle  Daniel  being 
present.  He  had  talked  with  me  over  the  cause  of  the  dispute,  and 
I  had  taken  him  over  and  introduced  him  to  Uncle  Billy.  When 
they  met  at  the  postoffice,  my  L^ncle  Daniel,  with  great  formality, 
said:  "Mr.  Ross,  allow  me  to  introduce  to  you  my  brother,  John. 
I  am  sure  you  will  like  him."  Both  laughed,  shook  hands,  and 
were  friends  ever  after.  ' 

One  night  I  overheard  my  father  and  I'ncle  Daniel  when  they 
were  having  a  confidential  talk  by  the  kitchen  fire.  My  uncle  had 
just  been  over  to  see  L"^ncle  Billy,  and  I  heard  him  say: 


78  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

"John,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  Henry?" 

My  father,  after  a  long  pause,  said:    "Deed  if  I  know." 

"His  uncle  is  very  fond  of  him,"  said  Uncle  Daniel. 

"Oh,"  said  my  father ;  "Henry  has  a  great  gift  of  gab,  and  that 
pleases  his  uncle."  * 

They  were  speaking,  of  course,  of  my  future  vocation.  ]\Iy 
Uncle  Daniel  and  I  were  warm  friends,  as  long  as  he  lived,  with  oc- 
casional rather  nasty  disagreements,  which  we  settled  when  we  next 
met  by  never  mentioning  them,  and  going  on  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. This  I  have  since  found  to  be  about  the  only  way  to  settle 
disputes  between  friends.  The  more  you  try  to  prove  which  is  in 
the  wrong,  the  less  friendship  there  remains.  Disputes  among 
really  good  people,  or  pepple  who  intend  to  do  right,  usually  grow 
out  of  some  misunderstanding  about  something  too  trifling  to  jus- 
tify discussion. 

Uncle  Daniel  was  the  first  of  a  number  of  relatives  that  came  to 
our  home  from  Ireland  in  the  early  fifties.  The  next  was  my 
cousin,  Henry  Wallace,  whom  we  usually  called  "Little  Henry," 
because  of  his  small  stature ;  then  a  second  cousin,  Gideon  McHenry 
— both  of  whom  became  citizens  of  the  United  States.  My  father 
was  a  firm  believer  in  the  value  of  work,  particularly  of  work  on 
the  farm.  Hence,  after  the  first  greetings  were  over,  these  young 
men  took  their  places  in  the  ordinary  farm  work  until  an  opening 
should  be  provided  thru  which  they  could  push  their  individual  for- 
tunes. I  owe  very  much  to  Gideon  McHenry.  I  think  he  was  one 
of  the  most  sincere,  faithful  and  conscientious  men  I  have  ever 
known.  He  and  I  slept  together,  and  I  was  much  impressed  with 
the  fact  that  no  matter  how  cold  the  night,  he  always  knelt  at  the 
bedside  and  prayed  before  retiring. 

Our  home  was  also  a  favorite  place  with  some  cousins  on  my 
mother's  side.  Hence  there  was  no  lack  of  company  at  our  house 
in  the  early  fifties. 


The  Whisky  Rebellion 

I  ALLUDED  in  an  earlier  letter  to  the  whisky  rebellion,  and 
promised  to  tell  you  something  of  it.  It  may  seem  strange  that 

a  connnunity  composed  largely'  of  Presbyterians  should  organ- 
ize a  whisky  rebellion.  This  is  not  so  surprising  when  we  come  to 
know  the  facts.  This  rebellion  occurred  long  before  my  time,  dur- 
ing Washington's  first  administration.  At  that  time,  the  facihties 
for  transportation  were  very  limited.  There  were  no  national 
roads  and  no  canals.  It  was  not  possible  to  freight  produce  over 
the  mountains,  nor  in  any  other  way  except  by  building  boats  of 
some  sort  and  floating  it  down  the  river,  selling  it  at  New  Orleans. 
The  Continental  money  had  become  worthless  thru  depreciation, 
and  the  phrase,  "not  worth  a  Continental,"  was  common.  State 
banking  systems  had  not  been  developed,  and  the  only  way  money 
could  be  obtained  for  produce  was  by  floating  the  produce  down 
the  river  and  exchanging  it  for  Spanish  coin. 

The  most  convenient  thing  to  float  down  the  river  was  whisky, 
because  it  had  great  value  in  small  bulk ;  and,  besides,  if  the  boat 
struck  a  snag  and  sank,  the  whisky  barrels  could  be  thrown  out 
into  the  river  and  would  still  float ;  whereas,  even  flour  would  be 
damaged,  and  wheat  ruined.  Hence  the  farmers  in  that  section 
of  Pennsylvania  converted  their  surplus  grain  into  whisky.  Dis- 
tilleries were  common  all  thru  the  country. 

The  west,  or  what  we  then  called  "the  Ohio,"  was  then  a  wilder- 
ness, inhabited  by  Indians.  The  goveniment,  under  Washington, 
put  a  tax  on  the  manufacture  of  whisky.  Settlers  who  were  de- 
pendent on  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  of  their  whisky  felt  that  tliis 
was  a  violent  invasion  of  their  rights,  and  took  up  arms.  When 
the  Civil  War  broke  out,  I  had  an  interview  with  General  Markle, 
who  was  a  general  of  militia.  He  told  me  that  he  was  one  of  the 
"whisky  boys,"  the  only  one  that  I  ever  met,  that  I  then  knew;  tho, 
in  fact,  I  had  met  several,  who  kept  their  connection  with  it  very 
quiet.      He  said  it  was  one  thing  that  he  was  most  thoroly  ashamed 


80  Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story 

of,  and  told  me  about  how  many  times  they  had  changed  command- 
ers in  marching  eighteen  miles.  There  was,  in  fact,  but  one  battle 
fought  (in  an  adjoining  county)  ;  and  I  do  not  know  that  there  was 
anybody  killed  in  that  battle,  but  there  were  several  wounded. 
General  Washington  sent  troops  into  our  neighborhood.  My 
grandfather  used  to  tell  me  about  keeping  store  and  selling  goods 
to  the  troops,  and  he  had  in  his  house  a  piece  of  an  exploded  bomb- 
shell. Whether  it  was  exploded  during  the  whisky  rebellion  or 
during  the  march  of  Washington  to  the  relief  of  Fort  Duquesne 
(now  Pittsburgh),  I  do  not  remember.  The  expedition  of  "Mad 
Anthony"  Wayne  against  the  Ohio  Indians,  by  attracting  the  more 
resolute  and  adventuresome,  and  giving  promise  of  the  opening  up 
of  that  country,  did  much  to  quell  the  rebellion.  Farmers  found 
that  the  whisky  tax,  like  the  tea  tax  levied  on  the  original  colonies, 
and  against  which  they  rebelled,  did  not  amount  to  very  much  any- 
how, and  I  believe  it  Avas  shortly  afterwards  repealed. 

You  may  be  interested  in  knowing  something  about  the  feelings 
of  the  people  of  my  early  day  on  the  subject  of  temperance.  Dis- 
tilleries were  found  on  the  farms  occasionally,  and  were  plentiful  at 
convenient  places  along  the  streams.  Every  tavern  had  its  bar. 
You  could  get  a  gallon  of  whisky  at  any  time  for  twenty-five  cents. 
Afterwards  it  was  sold  by  the  barrel  as  low  as  sixteen  cents  per  gal- 
lon. Taking  an  occasional  dram,  or  even  more  than  an  occasional 
one,  did  not  shut  a  man  out  of  good  and  respectable  society.  It 
was  common  to  take  whisky  to  the  harvest  field  in  connection  with 
the  "piece,"  or  forenoon  or  afternoon  lunch.  It  was  common  to 
serve  it  at  harvest  time  or  threshing.  I  remember  when  my  father 
ceased  to  take  it  to  the  harvest  field,  and  also  when  he  ceased  to 
offer  it  to  his  friends. 

1'he  consequence  of  this  cheap  whisky  was  to  make  a  drunkard 
out  of  every  person  who  was  inclined  that  way ;  while  those  not  so 
inclined  abstained  from  everything  except  an  occasional  drink  for 
"good  fellowship."  There  was  always  a  bottle  of  it  in  our  cup- 
board, but  we  children  never  touched  it  unless  it  was  given  to  us 
when  we  were  sick.  In  short,  at  that  time  persons  with  proper 
religious  training  and  convictions  seldom  used  it  to  excess,  tho  they 
did  in  earlier  days.  ' 

The  first  temperance  movement  was  the  Washingtonian  move- 
ment, which  occurred  two  or  three  years  before  I  was  born.  Tem- 
perance lecturers  came  around  to  the  schoolhouses  and  persuaded 
the  people,  old  and  young,  to  sign  the  pledge.  Public  sentiment 
gradually  turned  against  the  use  of  liquor,  and  has  continued  ever 
since.     When  the  Civil  War  began,  and  a  heavy  revenue  tax  was 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  81 

put  on  liquors,  there  was  no  opposition.  It  seemed  the  sensible 
thing  to  compel  vice  to  pay  a  large  part  of  the  taxes.  I  should 
regard  the  restoration  of  the  former  conditions  as  one  of  the  most 
deplorable  things  that  could  possibly  happen  to  the  American 
people. 

My  Uncle  Andrew  (my  mother's  youngest  brother)  told  me 
that  he  was  present  at  her  wedding;  that  the  officiating  minister,  a 
Scotchman  who  evidently  was  fond  of  a  dram  once  in  a  while,  when 
referring,  during  the  ceremony,  to  the  wedding  at  Cana  of  Galilee, 
began  at  once  to  denounce  the  Washingtonian  movement,  saying 
that  a  class  of  people  had  grown  up  in  those  later  days,  who  con- 
demned the  use  of  wine,  which  the  Lord  had  commended  by  His  ex- 
ample. His  miracle  furnishing  the  wine  for  the  wedding  feast.  This 
minister  evidently  regarded  this  as  an  example  of  modern  degen- 
eracy, a  sign  that  the  world  was  growing  worse!  I  have  since 
known,  and  still  know,  many  of  the  descendants  of  this  old  preacher 
— and,  without  exception,  they  are  strong  prohibitionists. 


My  First  Year  From  Home 

IN  my  eighteenth  year,  after  long  and  very  serious  considera- 
tion, I  made  a  profession  of  religion.     During  that  summer,  I 

determined  to  devote  myself  to  the  gospel  ministry.  There 
were  a  great  many  family  discussions  over  that  important  decision. 
My  father,  while  not  objecting,  and,  in  fact,  promising  any  aid  that 
I  needed,  was  very  much  disappointed  because  I  did  not  continue 
on  the  farm.  He  was  not  a  strong  man.  For  a  year  or  more,  I 
had  taken  the  heavy  end  of  the  work,  while  he  did  the  planning. 
For  a  year  or  two,  we  had  been  tile  draining  a  very  considerable 
area  of  wet  land  on  our  farm.  My  leaving  home  was  therefore  a 
grievous  financial  and  personal  loss  to  my  father.  My  Uncle 
Daniel,  who  was  to  me  very  like  an  older  brother,  was  very  anxious 
that  I  should  become  a  lawyer.  My  mother  wanted  me  to  become 
a  minister,  and  if  I  had  determined  to  become  a  lawyer,  it  would 
almost  have  broken  her  heart,  and  my  father  would  have  given  me 
no  assistance. 

My  profession  determined,  the  next  thing  was  to  select  the 
school  I  should  attend.  I  had  at  that  time  no  education  save  that 
of  a  fairly  good  rural  school.  My  mother  had  a  cousin  whose 
fad  was  education,  and  who  had  established  what  he  called  a  college 
in  Noble  county,  Ohio,  in  a  country  so  hilly  that  they  used  to  say 
they  farmed  both  sides,  and  thirty  miles  from  any  national  road, 
and  about  twenty  miles  from  the  Ohio  river.  This  cousin  was  a 
character.  He  was  a  minister,  a  man  of  marked  peculiarities, 
having  an  inimitable  drawl,  and  to  whose  mind  education  was  the 
all-important  thing.  M3'  mother  had  a  sister-in-law  there,  one  of 
my  father's  old  and  intimate  friends  had  moved  to  that  locality; 
and  so  it  was  dcterminod  that  I  should  go  to  Sharon  College. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  first  long  journe}'  from  home.  I  went 
by  stage  130  miles,  leaving  West  Newton  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  arriving  in  Washington,  Pennsylvania,  at  noon,  and  at 
Wheeling  that  night.     I  distinctly  remember  reading  my  chapter 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  83 

in  the  Bible  by  a  lamp-post  in  Wheeling.  I  took  the  stage  and 
traveled  all  night,  uphill  and  downhill,  the  stage  swinging  from 
one  side  to  the  other  on  the  rough  turnpike  road,  churning  up  my 
stomach  and  bringing  on  a  violent  attack  of  seasickness,  which, 
however,  was  not  more  nauseous  than  the  filthy  conversation  of  a 
couple  of  drovers  who  were  my  traveling  companions. 

We  reached  Washington,  Ohio,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
I  found  every  bed  in  the  hotel  full,  as  the  court  was  in  session.  I 
had  some  trouble  in  waking  up  the  negro  porter  to  ascertain  that 
fact,  and,  not  feeling  like  eating  breakfast,  I  started  out  to  walk 
the  thirty  miles  to  Sharon  College.  How  I  found  that  road,  I  am 
sure  I  don't  know;  but  after  walking  about  six  miles,  and  carrying 
all  my  belongings  in  an  old-fashioned  carpet  bag,  I  struck  a  log 
farm  house,  with  about  forty  big,  black  hogs,  the  biggest  I  had 
ever  seen  and  the  most  I  had  ever  seen  together,  in  the  yard  adjoin- 
ing. A  kind  old  lady  welcomed  me,  saw  I  was  in  need  of  mother- 
ing, made  me  some  coffee  and  some  elegant  toast,  following  it  up 
with  a  substantial  breakfast,  after  which  I  was  able  to  reach 
Sharon  that  evening.  I  have  no  recollection  of  having  any  din- 
ner, but  I  did  sometimes  get  a  lift  on  a  wagon.  ^ 

You  may  be  sure  I  was  glad  to  get  among  my  folks.  I  found 
that  Sharon  College  was  not  much  of  a  college,  perhaps  fifty  or 
sixty  pupils  from  the  common  school  grades  up.  There  was  a 
chance  to  study  arithmetic,  algebra,  English,  the  beginning  of 
Latin  grammar,  and  the  translation  of  passages  of  Scripture  into 
some  sort  of  Latin — "dog  Latin"  we  used  to  call  it.  I  did  not 
think  it  worth  while  to  stay  the  year  out,  but  went  home  in  the 
spring. 

Some  incidents  of  my  life  in  that  school  may  amuse  you.  My 
cousin  was  the  president,  but  did  no  teaching.  He  lived  a  mile 
out  of  town,  and  was  a  sort  of  agent  for  divoi-s  and  sinidry  l)ooks 
and  publications.  How  thoroly  impractical  he  was  you  will  un- 
derstand when  I  tell  you  that  he  asked  me  to  go  with  him  three 
miles,  one  evening  late  in  May,  and  carry  home  an  old  hive  of  bees. 
When  we  reached  there,  we  found  that  the  bees  were  lying  outside 
by  the  handful;  and  it  was  with  some  difficulty  that  I  persuaded 
him  that  for  us  to  carry  them  home,  uphill  and  downhill,  would  be 
[impracticable.  I  complained  about  the  hilliness  of  the  country, 
and  he  informed  me  that  the  hills  were  the  home  of  greatness,  that 
the  Bible  itself  was  written  in  a  hilly  country,  and  then  quoted  the 
Psalm:   "As  round  about  Jerusalem  the  mountains  stand  alway." 

I  ran  short  of  money  toward  spring,  and  my  cousin  persuaded 
me  and  a  classmate  of  mine,  Joe  Walters,  who  afterwards  entered 


84  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

tlie  ministry,  that  we  could  make  a  good  deal  of  money  if  we  would 
sell  a  lot  of  his  books,  pamphlets  and  tracts  on  commission  at  the 
county  seat,  Sarahsville.  As  the  county  court  was  in  session  that 
week,  he  said  the  town  w^ould  be  full,  and  many  would  be  hungry 
for  something  to  read.  He  offered  to  furnish  a  team  and  buggy, 
the  books  at  cost  price,  and  divide  the  profits. 

We  started  at  daylight,  over  about  as  miserable  a  road  as 
could  be  imagined,  for  the  frost  was  going  out  of  the  ground.  He 
furnished  us  with  large  posters,  with  which  he  advised  us  to  post 
the  town,  and  said  that  one  of  us  should  stay  in  the  parlor  of  the 
hotel  to  sell  books  to  customers,  and  that  the  other  should  drum 
them  in.  We  made  some  paste,  borrowed  a  brush,  and  billed  the 
town.  Joe  felt  that  he  was  the  best  man  to  drum  them  in,  while  I 
was  to  stay  at  the  hotel,  waiting  for  the  customers.  Alas !  none 
came. 

On  our  way  to  Sarahsville,  we  had  sold  about  37  cents'  worth 
of  pamphlets,  not  enough  for  our  dinner  and  horse  feed.  So  we 
went  without  dinner  and  paid  121/^  cents  for  horse  feed.  I  told 
him  that  I  did  not  think  he  was  a  very  good  hand  at  drumming 
them  in,  and  I  Avould  try  it  myself,  which  I  did.  I  bumped  into 
everybody,  and  once  struck  four  farmers  who  were  very  much 
interested  in  some  discussion.  My  cousin  had  convinced  us  that 
the  best  seller  would  be  "The  Life  of  Charles  Ball,"  an  escaped 
slave  and  fugitive.  So  I  butted  in,  exhibiting  a  copy  and  telling 
them  of  the  wonderful  escape  and  tribulations  of  this  fugitive. 
They  paid  no  attention  to  me  for  a  little  bit ;  but  finally  one  of 
them,  a  large,  portly  farmer,  who  would  weigh  two  hundred  or 
over,  said: 

"Excuse  me,  gentlemen,  till  I  settle  this  Yankee.'* 

As  I  expatiated  upon  the  adventures  of  Charles  Ball,  he  said: 
"Do  you  know  if  this  Charles  Ball  is  any  relation  to  the  Ball  who 
is  in  jail  for  murder.'"' 

I  was  obliged  to  confess  that  I  did  not;  but  that  knocked  the 
wind  out  of  me.  I  went  back  to  the  hotel,  and  found  that  Joe  had 
not  sold  a  cent's  worth.  Neither  had  I,  so  we  concluded  to  give 
it  up  as  a  bad  job. 

We  were  both  ravenously  hungry,  and  Joe,  who  was  a  Disciple, 
said  that  he  had  an  old  Disciple  friend  on  the  way  home,  and  that 
probably  he  would  give  us  supper.  Before  we  struck  him,  how- 
ever, I  saw  an  old  gentleman  hoeing  in  a  garden,  and  I  attacked 
him  with  Charles  Ball.     He  looked  at  me  a  little  bit  and  said: 

"I  am  an  old  man.     I  am  preparing  for  death ;  and  if  you  have 


Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story  80 

Boston's  'Future  State'  or  Alleine's  'Alarm  to  the  Unconverted', 
I  would  like  one  of  them." 

I  said  I  did  not  have  them. 

"Then  have  you  Baxter's  'Saints'  Rest'.?" 

I  said  no. 

"Then  you  have  nothing  that  will  suit  me.     You  may  pass  on." 

And  we  passed.  We  reached  Joe's  friend  just  before  supper. 
We  had  had  a  light  breakfast  and  no  dinner,  were  both  young  and 
hungry  as  hounds.  I  remember  some  things  distinctly  that  were 
on  that  table — an  enormous  platter  of  boiled  meat,  a  large  dish 
of  old-fashioned  hominy  (prepared  by  boiling  in  lye  water  and 
then  washing  off  the  lye  and  the  hulls  with  it),  and  some  bread, 
butter  and  potatoes.  There  was  also  splendid  coffee.  It  is  need- 
less to  say  that  we  did  full  justice  to  that  repast.  After  staying 
with  the  old  friend  till  ten  o'clock,  we  started  home,  and  arrived  at 
two  in  the  morning.  Our  total  sales  had  been  less  than  50  cents, 
our  expenses  121^4  cents,  and  we  considered  it  was  not  worth  while 
to  divide,  "  The  experience  was  worth  more  than  the  money.  I 
have  never  tried  to  sell  books  since. 

In  June,  I  bade  good-bye  to  Sharon  College,  walked  to  Mari- 
etta, where  my  mother  had  a  second  cousin,  and  took  a  steamboat 
from  there  home.  I  remember  that  part  of  the  way  at  least  I  rode 
on  a  steamboat  called  the  Diurnal,  I  suppose  because  it  started  out 
every  other  day  from  one  of  the  terminal  points.  I  remember 
that  the  feeding  was  fine  and  the  company  mixed;  but  judge  of 
my  disgust  with  the  slow  speed  when  at  a  certain  point  I  saw  the 
railroad  paralleling  the  river. 

My  cousin,  as  I  have  remarked  before,  was  a  character.  He 
had  married  a  lovely  woman,  who  died  while  I  was  there.  She  had 
three  children,  all  girls.  The  first  he  named  Jemimah,  the  second 
Keziah,  and  the  third  Kercnhappuch,  after  Job's  three  daughters. 
He  married  again  shortly,  and  his  second  wife  presented  him  with 
twins,  a  boy  and  a  girl.  The  boy  he  named  Nero  Lincoln  and  the 
girl  Nerina  Hamlin.  With  all  his  peculiarities,  he  was  a  most 
devout  Christian.  When  the  war  broke  out,  he  entered  the  army 
as  a  private,  rose  to  be  chaplain,  and  made  a  great  reputation  in 
his  own  church  by  his  letters  from  the  army.  They  were  peculiar 
in  this  respect — they  told  exactly  what  happened  and  in  the  plain- 
est language,  much  after  the  style  of  Boswell  Johnson. 

After  a  while,  some  railroad  presented  him  with  five  acres  of 
land  in  Missouri,  on  the  condition  that  he  build  a  college,  which 
he  did,  traveling  over  the  country  to  secure  needed  funds,  in  a 
buggy  drawn  by  a  pair  of  bronchos.      Many  years  afterwards  he 


86  Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story 

drove  another  pair  of  bronehos  to  my  mother's  house.  They 
slipped  on  the  icy  pavement  while  he  was  hitching  them,  and  my 
mother  gave  him  twenty-five  dollars  and  told  him  to  go  and  get  his 
horses  shod — which  I  am  quite  sure  he  did  not  do. 

His  college,  supplemented  by  preaching  in  vacancies  in  his 
church,  never  made  him  a  living.  He  insured  his  life  in  one  of 
those  fraternal  insurance  companies  which  in  those  days  offered 
insurance  far  below  cost.  He  finally  took  consumption.  The  as- 
sessments became  heavier  as  the  assessed  advanced  in  years.  He 
allowed  his  payments  to  be  in  default.  A  personal  friend  of  his 
notified  me  of  the  fact,  saying  he  would  soon  be  compelled  to  de- 
clare his  policy  defaulted,  that  he  could  not  live  very  long,  and 
asked  me  to  carry  it  for  him,  which  I  did.  I  mention  this  because 
I  got  a  lesson  in  "cheap  insurance."  It  cost  me  $11  a  month, 
sometimes  $22 ;  so  that  I  was  out  about  $1 50  in  a  little  over  a  year, 
carrying  a  policy  of  $2,000.  I  was  glad,  however,  to  be  able  to 
turn  it  over  to  his  wife,  who  richly  deserved  it. 


My  Second  Year  From  Home 

I    RETURN  ED  home  and  went  to  work  on  the  farm.    The  weath- 
er was  warm,  and  it  was  pretty  hard  work,  not  having  been  ac- 
customed to  it  for  six  months ;  but  my  mother  kindly  sent  me 
out  a  "piece"  about  half -past  ten,  for  the  first  day  or  two. 

I  was  undecided  where  to  go  next.  I  thought  of  going  to  Jef- 
ferson College,  at  Canonsburg,  thirty  miles  from  home;  but  was 
satisfied  that  I  was  unprepared  to  enter  even  the  freshman  class. 
My  father  had  an  old  friend,  James  McYeal  (which  the  neighbors 
pronounced  "Muckyale"),  who  had  a  son  whom  I  knew  fairly  well, 
tho  several  years  older  than  myself.  The  families  had  been  inti- 
mate for  many  years,  my  father  and  Mr.  McYeal  having  been  eld- 
ers in  the  same  church,  and  sitting  in  adjoining  pews.  The  son 
had  just  graduated  from  an  eastern  college,  but  persuaded  me  to 
attend  a  year  or  two  at  an  academy,  sometimes  called  a  college, 
in  which  he  had  received  the  main  part  of  his  education.  This  was 
Geneva  Hall,  located  at  Northwood,  a  very  small  village  some 
three  miles  from  Belle  Center,  and  eight  miles  from  Bellefontaine, 
in  Logan  county,  Ohio. 

Not  having  as  yet  decided,  I  went  there,  going  by  rail  to  Crest- 
line. On  this  journey,  I  had  a  very  severe  attack  of  seasickness, 
or  rather  train-sickness,  for  in  my  later  journeys  on  the  ocean,  I 
have  never  been  more  than  slightW  seasick,  and  that  only  the  first 
time.  Thinking  to  get  over  it,  I  ate  no  dinner,  and  for  supper  ate 
some  cakes  that  had  caraway  seeds  in  them,  which  I  had  bought 
at  Crestline.  Singularly  enough,  I  have  never  to  this  day  been 
able  to  enjoy  eating  anything  with  caraway  seed  in  it.  Mental 
suggestion,  of  course. 

I  changed  cars  and  went  to  Rushsylvania,  and  then  walked 
five  miles  thru  the  native  woods  to  Northwood.  When  I  describe 
it,  you  will  think  it  a  queer  town  and  a  queer  place  for  a  college. 
There  were  perhaps  thirty  or  forty  houses,  the  main  buildings  of 
the  college  and  female  seminary,  and  three  churches,  all  Covenant- 
ers, and  no  others.      None  of  the  three  Covenanter  churches  were 


I 


88  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

in  communion  with  each  other.  The  first  was  the  Old  School,  the 
second  the  New  School,  and  the  third  a  "Steelite"  church,  the  pas- 
tor of  which  was  a  blind  man  named  Peebles.  The  difference  be- 
tween the  old  and  the  new  school  was  that  the  members  of  the  new 
would  vote,  which  the  members  of  the  other  would  not.  What  was 
the  particular  difference  between  the  "Steelite"  and  the  old  and 
new  schools,  1  have  never  been  able  to  understand. 

It  Avas  distinctly  a  Covenanter  community.      The  Covenanters 
are  the  descendants  of  the  old  Scotch  Covenanters  or  "Cameron- 
ians,"  the  strictest  of  the  strict  Presbyterians.     The  voice  of  joy 
and  praise   from  the  "tabernacles   of  the   righteous"  was   heard 
*'duly  and  daily,"  morning  and  evening — a  song,  a  lengthy  pas- 
sage from  the  Scriptures,  and  a  long  prayer.     At  the  table,  a 
blessing  was  invariably  asked,  and  as  invariably  thanks  were  re- 
turned at  the  end  of  the  meal.     The  sermons  were  such  as  I  have 
described  as  being  the  custom  at  my  own  home,  only,  if  anything, 
longer.  There  was  no  praj'er-meeting,  but  a  meeting  of  the  members 
called  "Society,"  for  prayer  and  the  discussion  of  religious  topics. 
The  type  of  character  of  these  people  is   something  that  is 
rarely  seen  except  in  congregations  of  the  same  church  that  linger 
here  and  there  to  this  day.     It  seemed  to  me  that  every  man  had 
what  I  called  the  "Covenanter  head" ;  and  when  you  find  a  man 
with  the  Covenanter  head,  you  had  better  be  careful  about  getting 
into  an  argument  with  him;  for  he  usually  knows  what  he  is  talk- 
ing about,  and  is  apt  to  be  as  good  a  judge  of  stock  as  of  theology. 
It  was  not  long  before  I  ran  up  against  what  seemed  to  me 
peculiar  doctrines.     When  I  inquired  why  they  did  not  vote,  I  was 
told  that  it  was  because  they  would  not  take  the  oath  of  allegiance. 
When  I  asked  why  they  would  not  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  to 
support  the  government,  I  was  told  that  the  government  was  ir- 
religious, and,  as  one  of  the  boys  afterwards  said  in  a  debate,  "in 
league  with  hell,"  tho  the  elders  would  not  put  it  that  strong.     In 
other  words,  the  government  did  not   recognize  specifically  and 
directly  God  as  the  Supreme  Ruler  and  Jesus  as  the  Supreme 
Source  of  all  authority.     Many  were  the  arguments  I  had,  espe- 
cially with  the  students,  on  this  question.     They  would  point  to 
the  Morocco  treaty,  in  which  it  was  distinctly  stated  by  the  secre- 
tary of  state  that  the  United  States  was  not  a  Christian  nation. 
They  would  point  to  slavery  (for  remember  that  this  was  in  the 
winter  of  1855-1856),  and  to  the  fact  that  both  the  political  par- 
ties were  bound  hand  and  foot  to  the  slave  interests. 

Northwood  was  one  of  the  stations  on  the  "underground  rail- 
Way."     There  was  a  regular  line  of  stations  from  Cincinnati  to 


Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story  89 

Sandusky.  Negroes  were  brought  in  covered  wagons,  covered 
over  with  straw  or  corn  stalks  or  bedding,  to  the  station  after 
nightfall,  and,  after  being  bountifully  fed,  were  carried  on  the  next 
night  to  the  next  "underground  station."  If  any  of  the  Covenanter 
students  were  absent  from  Iheir  classes,  we  generally  knew  where 
they  had  gone,  and  asked  no  questions.  When  one  of  my  chums, 
who  lived  on  a  farm,  came  down  to  breakfast  one  winter  morning, 
he  found  nine  runaway  negroes  getting  an  early  breakfast.  Thev 
had  arrived  during  the  night,  and  would  be  hid  till  the  next  night, 
and  then  taken  on  their  way  to  freedom  in  Canada. 

With  some  of  the  other  boys,  I  boarded  with  a  most  excellent 
old  gentleman  named  Trumbull,  half  a  mile  out  in  the  country. 
He  was  a  very  curious  compound  of  native  Yankee  and  thoro- 
bred  Scotchman,  having  been  reared  in  Vermont  from  Scotch  or 
Scotch-Irish  Covenanter  stock.  He  was  not  very  much  of  a 
farmer,  but  a  great  student  of  theology,  and  presented  me  almost 
from  the  first  some  very  knotty  problems — for  example:  "Who 
were  the  one  hundred  and  forty-four  thousand  who  stood  with  the 
Lamb  on  Mount  Sinai.''"  He  intimated  to  me  that  he  thought 
they  were  the  Covenanters !  I  told  him  that  I  thought  if  he  would 
read  the  passage  thru  carefully,  that  he  would  see  that  the  major- 
ity of  the  Covenanters  would  be  excluded.  (You  will  see  why  if 
you  read  the  passage.)  He  had  a  theory  of  the  millenium  which 
I  could  never  understand,  but  included  in  it  was  the  idea  that  the 
ponds,  which  abounded  in  that  section,  would  be  dried  up;  and  it 
would  be  something  like  the  Garden  of  Eden  restored.  I  could  not 
help  but  predict  that  the  ponds  would  not  be  dried  up,  nor  the 
corduroy  roads  rendered  comfortable  for  travel,  unless  there  was 
a  vigorous  use  of  the  spade,  both  on  the  ditches  and  the  roads. 

My  room-mate  was  an  old  friend  who  followed  me  from  Penn- 
sylvania— Dick  Shaw.  He,  too,  was  aiming  for  the  ministry;  but 
his  educational  career  came  to  an  untimely  end  in  a  very  singular 
way.  A  young  farmer  named  Johnson  had  a  peach  orchard  not 
far  from  the  house  where  we  roomed.  There  were  peaches  in  great 
abundance.  ^My  friend  Shaw  and  I  rented  the  peach  orchard  for 
our  own  eating  for  the  season,  or,  rather,  we  paid  25  cents  apiece 
(or  perhaps  that  amount  for  both ;  I  do  not  remember  now).  The 
owner  guaranteed  the  peaches  to  last  six  weeks.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  they  lasted  but  five  weeks,  but  we  did  not  ask  for  a  rebate. 
We  were'  to  have  all  that  we  could  eat  or  throw  at  each  other,  if 
we  had  a  mind  to — but  we  must  not  give  any  to  the  other  boys. 
We  went  to  that  orchard  "daily  and  duly,"  ate  what  we  wanted, 
threw  them  at  each  other  when  in  that  mood,  brougiit  home  what 


» 


90  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

we  pleased;  but,  unfortunately,  my  friend  caught  the  ague.  I 
had  never  seen  a  case  of  that  kind  before,  and  I  was  appalled  when 
he  "took  a  shake,"  usually  in  the  forenoon,  and  shook  till  the  bed- 
stead rattled.  He  was  obliged  to  quit  school  and  become  a  farmer. 
He  proved  to  be  a  most  excellent  one,  however,  and  is  living  yet 
(1911),  all  on  account  of  that  unfortunate  renting  of  a  peach 
orchard.  He  did  not  know%  nor  did  any  of  us,  that  malaria  was 
carried  by  mosquitoes,  and  that  there  are  mosquitoes  wherever 
there  are  ponds  in  the  summer-time.  If  he  did  not  make  a  preach- 
er, he  made  a  first-class  elder,  which  is  almost  as  good.  I  had  a 
delightful  visit  with  him  in  June,  1911. 

Mr.  Trumbull  had  a  brother  who  was  noted  for  long  prayers 
and  long  blessings  at  the  table.  The  boys  were  told  that  Avhen  the 
bell  rang  during  morning  prayers,  they  would  be  excused.  One 
day  his  daughter  knocked  at  my  door  and  said : 

"You  need  not  come  to  dinner  till  fifteen  minutes  after  the  bell 
rings." 

I  asked  why. 

"Well,"  she  answered,  "Uncle  James  is  to  be  here.  Mother 
usually  does  not  ask  him  to  return  thanks,  because  his  blessing  is 
so  long  that  she  is  afraid  the  things  will  get  cold;  but  today  she 
is  going  to  ask  him  to  ask  the  blessing." 

I  waited  fifteen  minutes  after  the  bell  rang,  and  was  in  plenty 
of  time  for  the  dinner. 

I  was  intimate  with  one  other  family,  that  of  Samuel  P.  John- 
son, a  farmer ;  a  man  who,  in  type  of  mind,  bent  of  character,  age 
and  experience,  was  so  nearl}'  like  John  Brown,  of  Osawattamic, 
that  if  I  were  to  see  their  photographs  today,  I  would  not  know 
one  from  the  other.  He  was  more  of  a  theologian  than  farmer, 
and  studied  profoundly  the  problems  of  government  and  the  his- 
tory of  churches  from  the  standpoint  of  Calvinistic  theology  of 
the  strictest  kind.  T  have  the  best  of  reason  to  believe  that  he 
kept  a  station  on  the  "underground  railway."  He  was  one  of  the 
main  supports  of  both  the  college  and  the  female  seminary. 

I  go  into  these  details  because  the  environment  of  a  college,  the 
kind  of  people  who  support  it,  and  the  religious  influences  by  which 
it  is  surrounded  are  not  the  least  important  part  of  an  education. 
I  have  been  glad  ever  since  that  I  went  to  Geneva  Hall,  not  merely 
for  the  thoro  character  of  the  instruction — of  which  more  here- 
after— but  because  I  was  brought  into  close  contact  with  a  class  of 
people  who,  whatever  may  be  their  short-comings,  were  profound 
thinkers,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  carry  their  convictions  to  their 
proper  conclusions  so  far  as  was  humanly  possible. 


The  Small  College 

THE  small  college,  whether  in  the  nineteenth  or  the  twentietli 
century,  has  this  great  advantage  over  the  large  one,  that  the 
pupils  can  get  in  closer  touch  with  the  professors.  For  obvious 
reasons,  the  small  denominational  college  can  get  a  bigger  man  for 
the  same  salary.  If  the  small  college  has  even  one  big  man,  the 
student  is  likely  to  get  more  benefit  from  this  than  from  an  even 
bigger  man  in  a  larger  college,  for  the  simple  reason  that  it  is 
easier  to  get  in  touch  with  the  best  thing  in  the  college,  a  Man. 
In  the  larger  school,  almost  the  entire  instruction  must  be  given 
by  men  of  little  reputation,  men  of  whom  the  student  has  probably 
never  heard  until  he  entered  the  classroom.  He  seldom  gets  very 
close  to  the  man  of  reputation  connected  with  the  school. 

I  was  very  fortunate.  When  I  went  to  Geneva  Hall,  I  was 
thrown  in  close  touch  with  some  really  big  men.  The  biggest  of 
them  was  a  man  long  since  dead,  named  Doctor  Sloan,  then  about 
forty  years  of  age.  He  was  bred  in  tlie  east,  had  evidently  re- 
ceived a  very  thoro  training,  and  had  moved  in  the  very  best 
society.  He  was  a  thoro  teacher,  and  took  a  lively  personal  in- 
terest in  every  boy  connected  with  the  school.  He  knew  how  to 
get  work  out  of  boys  without  formally  requiring  it  of  them.  I  re- 
member very  well  the  first  day  I  met  him.  They  were  organizing 
the  classes  at  the  beginning  of  the  session.  The  class  of  which  my 
recollection  is  most  Aivid  was  that  in  Tiatin,  text-book,  Caesar.  I 
knew  a  little  Latin  granmiar,  but  did  not  know  that  thoroly,  and 
one  of  the  professors  said  that  I  could  not  keep  up  with  the  work 
of  that  class.  Fortunately,  there  seemed  no  place  else  to  put  me, 
and  Doctor  Sloan  said:  "Put  Wallace  in  ;  he'll  get  thru  all  right." 
I  felt  greatly  encouraged  by  that.  The  first  day  the  doctor  sat 
and  looked  at  us  a  bit ;  and,  as  I  was  at  the  end  of  the  seat,  he  said: 

"Wallace,  what  did  you  come  here  for.'"' 

I  stammered  out,  after  a  time:  "To  get  an  education." 

"An  education — what  is  an  education.''" 


92  Uncle  Henry's   Own   Story 

After  he  had,  so  to  speak,  chased  me  around  the  room  v'ith 
that  sort  of  a  prod,  he  said:  "Well,  what  do  you  want  with  an 
education?"  Then,  after  a  while:  "How  do  you  expect  to  get  it?" 
He  wound  up  his  examination  of  each  one  of  us — for  he  treated  us 
all  alike  in  order — with :  "What  do  you  want  to  do  with  an  educa- 
tion when  you  get  it?"  And  that  was  the  first  day's  recitation  in 
Caesar ! 

I  wondered  what  would  come  next.  The  next  day,  he  simply 
asked  one  of  the  boys  to  hand  him  a  book,  and  motioned  for  us  to 
begin  translating.  If  there  was  a  wrong  accent,  he  twisted  a  lock 
of  hair  which  hung  behind  his  right  ear;  if  a  wrong  quantity,  he 
frowned ;  if  a  wrong  pronunciation,  he  gave  a  peculiar  stamp  with 
his  right  foot.  W'e  came  in  a  little  while  to  the  third  sentence  in 
the  first  book  of  Caesar.  It  went  around  the  class,  and  nobody 
could  translate  it.  He  simply  handed  back  the  book  and  said: 
"That  will  do  until  tomorrow,"  and  when  we  came  back  the  next 
day  he  began  with  that  sentence.  That  was  his  method  of  teach- 
ing Caesar.  I  do  not  know  how  the  other  boys  felt  about  it,  but  I 
made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  have  that  lesson  if  I  sat  up  all  night 
to  get  it;  and  I  had  it.  Only  in  extremely  difficult  passages  did 
he  give  us  any  direct  help.     We  had  to  get  it  ourselves. 

Then  he  had  us  visit  him  in  the  evening,  one  or  two  at  a  time, 
and  talked  with  us  about  our  parents  and  our  aims  in  life.  I  was 
a  very  awkward  boy  in  those  days,  and  not  very  particular  about 
my  clothes.  His  wife,  a  very  refined  lady,  and  evidently  accus- 
tomed to  the  best  society,  one  evening  called  my  attention  to  this 
and  said  I  would  succeed  a  great  deal  better  if  I  would  be  more 
particular  about  my  appearance.      He  said: 

"Well,  that's  all  right.  She  is  giving  you  good  advice;  but  I 
would  advise  you  not  to  neglect  your  studies  to  take  on  polish.  If 
you  master  your  studies,  there  will  be  something  to  polish,  and  that 
will  come  by  and  by." 

Then  we  had  Doctor  Milligan,  who,  I  afterwards  learned  dur- 
ing a  long  friendship  lasting  until  his  death,  was  only  four  or  five 
years  older  than  myself.  He  was  a  most  genial  man,  who  knew 
how  to  enlist  the  boys'  sympathies,  and  was  constantly  pointing 
them  to  higher  things.  Other  professors  we  had — good  ones,  very 
good  drill-masters,  who  insisted  on  thoroness — but  they  failed  to 
grip  me  as  did  these  two  men. 

The  course  of  study  was  not  an  extensive  one,  nor  nearly  so 
large  nor  so  long  as  in  the  best  high  schools  of  the  early  part  of  the 
twentieth  century,  and  was  mainly  adapted  to  fitting  men  for  a 
professional  life.      Outside  of  the  professions  there  was  nothing 


I 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  93 

vocational  about  it.  English  grammar,  composition,  higher  arith- 
metic, algebra,  plane  and  spherical  geometry,  trigonometry,  Latin, 
Greek  and  Hebrew — the  latter  in  the  senior  year.  These  and 
work  in  the  literary  societies  were  the  main  features  of  the  educa- 
cation  we  received  in  that  school.  The  main  object  was  to  make 
preachers ;  and  an  unusually  large  number  of  the  students  became 
preachers,  and  are  sporting  "D.  D.'s"  and  "LL.  D.'s"  to  this  day. 

Education  was  cheap  in  those  days ;  and  perhaps  it  may  be  re- 
garded from  the  modern  viewpoint  as  rather  cheap  education  in 
itself.  I  do  not  think  I  ever  paid  as  much  as  four  doUars  a  week 
for  board  and  room — usually  two  and  a  half  or  three.  The  board 
was  usually  good;  and  I  wish  I  could  enjoy  now  as  hearty  a  break- 
fast as  I  did  at  my  first  boarding-place,  where  they  had  splendid 
"flapjacks,"  pancakes  swimming  in  genuine  maple  syrup  matle 
on  the  farm.  We  had  these  nearly  every  morning,  or  else  buck- 
wheat cakes  (home-grown),  hot  from  the  griddle,  and  plenty  of 
good  butter,  country-cured  ham,  and  fresh  eggs  in  season. 

The  rooms  were  bare,  seldom  carpeted.  A  wash  bowl  and  a 
pitcher  served  for  all  ablutions,  and  we  invariably  threw  the  dirty 
water  out  of  the  window  ;  for  there  was  no  sewer,  and  this  was  the 
easiest  way  of  disposing  of  it.  I  shall  never  forget  one  incident 
while  I  was  at  Jefferson  College,  two  years  afterwards,  and  room- 
ing in  the  second  story.  I  used  rainwater  which  had  a  plentiful 
supply  of  soot  in  it,  being  in  a  coal  county,  and  when  I  threw  the 
dirty  w-ater  out  of  the  window,  as  usual,  it  came  squarely  on  top  of 
the  bald  head  of  my  landlord,  who  happened  to  be  passing  under 
that  window^  at  the  time.  I  saw  him  after  I  had  tipped  the  basin, 
and  began  profuse  apologies.  He  must  have  been  a  saint  of  a  ripe 
degree  of  grace;  for  he  only  looked  up  and, said:  "Did  I  ever!" 
I  do  not  think,  however,  that  he  ever  got  rid  of  a  suspicion  that  I 
did  it  on  purpose — which  T  did  not. 

The  streets  of  the  little  village  of  Xorthwood  were  simply  coun- 
try roads  poorly  worked ;  the  sidewalks  simply  one  oak  board, 
about  a  foot  wide,  on  which  men  usually  w  alked  alone,  but  on  which 
I  observed  that  a  boy  and  a  girl  could  walk  together  and  balance 
fairly  well. 

I  remember  but  one  case  of  disciplining,  involving,  however, 
two  persons.  There  are  cranks  in  colleges  as  well  as  elsewhere, 
and  we  had  one,  a  queer  fellow,  who  wore  in  summer  a  hat  of  straw 
with  as  wide  a  brim  as  the  broadest  of  the  ladies'  hats  in  the  year 
1910.  '  This  brim  was  held  up  by  a  string  on  each  side.  In  the 
summer  he  went  barefooted,  and  wore  a  gown  of  some  sort  which 
reached  down  to  his  feet.      He  argued  with  the  boys  that  it  was 


L 


94  Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story 

wrong  to  take  the  life  of  any  animal,  even  that  of  the  most  offen- 
sive insect.  He  argued  also  that  we  should  eat  nothing  that  was 
not  grown  in  our  own  immediate  environment.  Hence,  he  ab- 
jured tea,  coffee,  spices  and  sugar,  except  maple.  He  refused 
to  cut  cither  his  hair  or  beard.  He  said  he  was  fitting  himself 
as  a  missionary  to  Afghanistan;  and  we  all  wished  he  were  there. 
He  made  some  slighting  remarks  about  the  girls  with  whom  two 
of  the  older  boys  were  going,  and  naturally  incurred  their  special 
enmity.  On  election  night,  the  fourth  of  November,  1856,  these 
boys  waylaid  him  as  he  was  passing  thru  a  vacant  room  in  the 
college,  which  had  not  been  swept  that  summer.  There  was  a 
struggle,  and  much  hair  and  gore  were  found  on  the  floor  in  the 
morning.  In  taking  off  his  long  hair,  which  he  had  refused  to 
have  cut,  they  also  took  some  of  his  scalp  with  it.  Of  course,  an 
offense  of  this  kind  could  not  be  overlooked,  and  the  boys  were 
suspended :  but  they  had  no  difficulty  in  entering  another  college 
of  the  same  grade,  or  a  higher  one,  in  the  same  classes. 

Longfellow  had  made  Hiawatha  famous  at  that  time,  and  many 
were  the  sheets  of  paper  spoiled  by  descriptions  of  this  tragic  scene 
in  Hiawatha  style.  I  spoiled  a  number  myself,  but  can  only  re- 
member the  beginning  of  one:  "On  the  fourth  night  of  November," 
in  which  were  references  to  the  silvery  moon,  a  sky  overcast  with 
clouds,  and  untrodden  snow,  and  stars- as  they  looked  down  upon 
the  scene. 

There  were  few  amusements  as  an  outlet  for  the  pent-up  ener- 
gies of  students ;  no  baseball,  no  football,  no  tennis,  no  gymnasium. 
There  was  an  occasional  visit  with  some  one  of  the  boys  at  his 
home  in  the  country,  a  visit  to  the  nearest  town,  and  a  supper  at 
the  hotel  with  some  girl  friend,  a  day's  hunting  for  wild  turkeys, 
which  were  not  numerous,  and  for  squirrels,  both  the  black  and  the 
gray — these  furnished  about  all  the  diversion  we  had. 

Generally  speaking,  we  were  hard-working,  earnest  students. 
The  second  year,  I  was  in  the  habit  of  getting  up  at  four  o'clock, 
which  I  would  not  like  to  do  now.  I  studied  till  six,  then  had 
breakfast  and  an  hour's  walk,  if  the  roads  were  dry  or  frozen. 
There  were  recitations  in  the  forenoon,  an  hour«for  dinner,  some 
recitations  in  the  afternoon,  an  hour  for  supper,  and  then  study 
till  ten.  VVe  made  much  of  our  literary  societies,  and  fierce  was 
the  rivalry  between  students  for  society  as  well  as  class  honors.  I 
Avas  once  foolish  enough  to  rejoice  over  the  defeat  of  one  of  my 
rivals  by  declaiming  in  my  turn  at  "Woolsey's  Lament,"  with 
variations :  "Adieu,  a  last  adieu  to  all  my  greatness !"  At  the 
next  night  he,  with  similar  variations,  declaimed  something  about 


Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story  <Jo 

Napoleon's  decline,  fall  and  banishment  to  Elba.  It  taught  nic  a 
lesson,  "not  to  rejoice  when  thy  enemy  falleth."  I  richly  deserved 
the  unmerciful  scoring  I  received. 

I,  with  some  of  the  other  boys,  had  been  on  a  sleigh-ride  to  a 
little  town  called  Roundhead.  On  the  way  home,  our  sleigh  broke 
down,  and  we  borrowed  a  log  chain  from  a  farmer  without  asking 
his  consent,  intending,  of  course,  to  return  it.  The  farmer  was 
furious,  and  came  to  town  the  next  day,  demanding  our  arrest. 
Of  course  we  settled  Avith  the  farmer ;  but  my  friend,  in  his  decla- 
mation, told  about  being  born  of  noble  Scottish  ancestry,  and 
when  he  came  to  the  passage,  "his  flight  from  Moscow  confirmed 
his  descent,"  substituted,  "his  flight  from  Roundhead"!  I  hap- 
pened to  be  censor  that  evening,  and  managed  to  pay  the  highest 
compliments  to  my  castigator,  much  to  the  amusement  of  the  bovs. 

And  yet,  looking  back  over  more  than  half  a  century,  I  feel 
that  I  owe  this  fellow  a  good  deal.  He  and  I  never  did  get  along. 
One  day  he  said  something  particularly  mean  about  me  at  the 
boarding-house,  which  rankled  even  when  the  family  were  at  wor- 
ship;  and  then  and  there  it  occured  to  me  that  I  would  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  fact  that  a  room  had  been  left  vacant  by  one  of 
the  students  who  had  been  suspended,  and  change  my  boarding 
house,  with  this  further  advantage,  that  I  would  have  a  room  to 
myself.  While  there  I  became  acquainted  with  a  young  lady  nmch 
older  than  myself,  who  was  boarding  at  the  same  house,  and  thru 
her,  two  years  later,  I  had  the  opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted 
with  the  lady  who  became  my  wife.  Thus  do  the  most  trifling 
things,  to  which  we  pay  no  attention  at  the  time,  shape  our  destiny. 
Some  call  it  chance,  some  luck;  I  call  it  Providence.  Just  think 
of  what  a  difference  it  might  have  made  in  the  Wallace  famil}',  if 
I  had  not  fallen  out  with  this  schoolmate  over  a  trifling  remark, 
changed  my  boarding-place,  and  perhaps  had  remained  an  old 
bachelor,  or  perchance  married  a  less  noble  woman  than  your 
great-grandmother ! 

Last  spring  (1911),  the  American  Magazine  saw  fit  to  publish 
a  sketch  of  my  life.  A  few  weeks  afterward,  I  received  a  letter 
from  a  professor  in  a  college  out  in  Utah,  stating  that  he  sup- 
posed I  was  the  same  chap  who  took  part  in  a  chicken  dinner  in 
the  room  of  one  of  the  students,  the  chickens  for  which  had  been 
"borrowed"  (like  the  log  chain)  from  a  farmer  whom  the  boys 
greatly  disliked.  He  called  my  attention  to  the  moot  court  which 
was  held  on  the  college  campus  on  a  dark  night,  in  which  he  says  I 
acted  as  judge,  arraigned  the  culprits,  sentenced  them  to  deliver 
to  the  farmer  resolutions  of  regret  that  anyone  connected   with 


96  Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story 

the  college  had  been  guilty  of  interfering  with  his  feathered  flock, 
promising  that  it  should  never  occur  again,  if  the  discipline  of  the 
students  could  prevent  it,  and  that  they  should  pay  him  one  dollar 
— more  than  twice  what  two  tough  old  hens  were  worth  then.  I 
had  really  forgotten  all  about  the  moot  court,  but  have  an  indis- 
tinct recollection  of  the  feast,  the  chickens  for  which  I  suspect  were 
feloniously  purloined !  I  presume  that  human  nature  in  college 
is  now,  and  always  will  be,  much  as  it  was  then  and  always  has 
been. 


My  Third  Year  From  Home 

MY  third  year  froin  home  was  my  second  year  at  Geneva  Hall. 
College  life  flowed  on  much  the  same  as  the  year  before,  with 
this  difference,  that  the  discussions  in  the  literary  societies 
and  elsc>vhere  took  on  a  more  distinctly  political  phase;  for  this  was 
the  year  1856,  when  the  great  Republican  party,  which  has  been 
in  power  most  of  the  time  since,  first  became  a  national  organiza- 
tion. For  many  years,  the  two  great  political  parties  had  been 
the  Whig  and  the  Democrat.  The  Democrats  had  been  in  power, 
except  for  eight  years,  since  1832.  The  great  leaders  of  both 
parties  at  this  date  were  pro-slavery  partisans.  There  was  an 
anti-slavery  element  in  both  parties,  but  it  was  regarded  by  the 
leaders  of  each  as  insurgent,  and  therefore  dangerous,  and  li.ible, 
if  allowed  to  make  headway,  to  disturb  the  repose  and  interfere 
with  business.  The  south  was  for  the  most  part  Democratic  and 
for  free  trade,  or,  more  accurately,  for  a  tariff  for  revenue  only, 
because  it  was  almost  purely  agricultural,  and  sold  its  main  crop, 
cotton,  in  a  foreign  market,  in  which  it  had  practicalh^  a  monop- 
oly. It  wished  to  purchase  supplies  as  cheaply  as  possible.  The 
north  was  mainly  Whig,  and  advocated  protection,  because  it  con- 
tained practically  all  the  manufacturing  plants  of  the  nation,  and 
wished  competition  barred,  or  at  least  limited,  by  a  protective  tar- 
iff which  would  enable  it  to  put  up  the  price  of  its  goods. 

The  south  was  in  the  main  pro-slavery,  because  it  was  believed 
that  cotton  could  not  be  grown  without  slave  labor;  while  the  north 
had  gotten  rid  of  its  slaves,  mainly  because  it  did  not  pay  to  keep 
them.  In  the  mountain  regions  of  the  south,  and  on  the  higher 
and  drier  soils  of  the  valleys,  cotton  growing  was  impossible. 
Hence,  these  were  the  Whig  strongholds,  while  Democracy  flour- 
ished in  such  states  as  Pennsylvania,  where,  at  that  time,  the  main 
business  was  agriculture.  The  great  business  interests  of  the 
north  were  friendly  to  the  south,  because  they  financed  and  handled 
the  cotton,  whether  for  export  or  home  manufacture. 


98  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

Among  the  better  classes  of  both  parties  conscience  slept,  and 
self-interest  or  supposed  self-interest  mainly  regulated  conduct. 
This  is  the  tendency  of  human  nature  in  any  and  every  age.  In 
various  ways  this  sleeping  conscience  of  the  American  people  had 
been  aroused.  I  need  not  tell  you  of  the  events  that  led  up  to  the 
Missouri  compromise,  in  1820,  by  which  all  land  in  the  Louisiana 
purchase  north  of  latitude  36 :30,  except  Missouri,  was  decreed 
to  be  forever  free  from  slavery ;  nor  of  the  acquisition  of  Texas  for 
the  purpose  of  extending  slavery ;  nor  of  the  territory  given  as 
indemnity  by  Mexico,  out  of  which  we  have  carved  California, 
Nevada  and  Utah  ;  nor  of  the  rush  of  northern  people  to  California 
on  account  of  the  discovery  of  gold,  and  of  the  Mormons  to  Utah ; 
nor  of  the  enactment  of  the  fugitive  slave  law  in  1850.  You  will 
find  all  of  that,  and  much  more  like  it,  in  your  school  histories — 
or  at  least  ought  to  find  it.  I  am  not  writing  a  history  of  any 
sort,  but  am  trying  to  tell  you  how  things  political  looked  to  a 
sophomore  student  in  a  strong  anti-slavery  locality  in  the  years 
1856  and  1857. 

In  the  fifties,  Stephen  A.  Douglas  was  the  most  potent  force 
in  the  United  States  senate.  He  had  introduced  and  secured  the 
passage  of  the  bill  called  the  Nebraska-Kansas  act,  which  re- 
pealed the  Missouri  compromise  and  freed  those  states  and  all 
other  territory  open  to  settlement  to  slavery,  provided  the  bill  was 
enacted  into  law.  This  was  the  famous,  plausible  and  seductive 
doctrine  of  "squatter  sovereignty."  This  aroused  the  public  to 
the  danger,  and  the  more  so  because  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  (written 
by  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  in  1852,  and  of  which  300,000  copies 
were  said  to- have  been  sold  the  first  year)  had  laid  bare  the  condi- 
tions in  the  slave-holding  states,  and  had  aroused  the  national 
conscience.  The  fugitive  slave  law  made  every  man  a  slave-catcher 
— if  his  services  were  demanded  by  the  United  States  marshal — 
and  imposed  a  fine  of  a  thousand  dollars  and  imprisonment  on 
every  man  who  harbored,  aided  or  abetted  any  runaway  slave. 

The  Dred  Scott  decision,  rendered  by  the  circuit  court  of  the 
United  States  in  1857,  confirmed  the  constitutionality  of  the  fugi- 
tive slave  law,  and  stripped  the  fugitive  of  every  right  to  liberty 
in  a  free  state.  I  quote  from  that  decision,  premising  in  the  first 
place  that  Dred  Scott  was  a  negro,  the  slave  of  an  army  officer 
stationed  in  Missouri,  who  took  him,  in  1834,  to  Illinois,  where 
slavery  was  prohibited  by  the  state  law,  and  then  to  what  is  now 
INIinnesota,  where  slavery  was  prohibited  by  the  INIissouri  compro- 
mise. In  1838,  the  officer  returned  to -Missouri  with  Scott,  where 
the  latter  learned  that  a  previous  decision  of  the  Missouri  courts 


Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story  99 

made  him  a  free  man.  In  1848,  his  master  gave  him  a  beating, 
and  he  brought  suit  against  him  for  assault  and  batter}-,  and  the 
court  gave  him  a  verdict.  In  18.5f2,  the  supreme  court  of  the  state 
reversed  the  decision  of  the  lower  court.  His  master  than  sold 
Scott  to  a  citizen  of  New  York ;  and,  on  the  ground  that  he  and 
his  new  owner  were  citizens  of  different  states,  he  brought  suit 
against  him  for  assault  in  the  federal  circuit  court  of  Alissouri. 
The  case  finally  reached  the  supreme  court,  and  that  court  de- 
clared that  Scott  was  not  a  cilizen  of  Missouri,  and  hence  had  no 
standing  in  the  federal  courts ;  that  a  slave  was  only  a  piece  of 
property,  and  the  owner  could  take  it  wherever  he  desired  in  the 
United  States ;  that  no  negro  could  be  a  citizen  of  the  United 
States ;  that  the  Missouri  compromise  was  unconstitutional ;  and 
that  neither  congress  nor  the  territorial  government  could  pro- 
hibit slavery  in  the  territories.  With  this  statement  of  facts,  we 
can  realize  the  force  of  the  decision  delivered  by  Chief  Justice 
Tawney : 

"They  (the  negroes)  had  for  more  than  a  century  tefore  (the 
adoption  of  the  constitution)  been  regarded  as  beings  of  an  infe- 
rior order,  and  altogether  unfit  to  associate  with  the  white  race, 
either  in  social  or  political  relations  ;  and  so  far  inferior  that  they 
had  no  right  which  the  white  man  was  bound  to  respect,  and  that 
the  negro  might  justly  and  lawfully  be  reduced  to  slavery  for  his 
benefit." 

You  can  see  how  this  decision  would  stir  up  anti-slavery  senti- 
ment from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other;  for,  as  a  result, 
no  man,  no  matter  what  his  social  standing,  wealth  or  culture  might 
be,  knew  when  he  was  putting  his  life  in  jeopardy,  and  he  would 
lose  all  standing  if  he  championed  the  cause  of  a  slave.  Wendell 
Phillips,  a  man  of  the  bluest  blood,  highest  culture,  and  noblest 
character,  the  greatest  orator  of  his  age,  and  certainly  the  greatest 
I  have  ever  heard,  was  regarded  as  a  pariah  and  an  outcast  in  cul- 
tured Boston.  There  had  been  for  years  a  few  pronounced  abo- 
litionists. They  were  treated  with  as  great  contempt  and  scorn 
as  we  would  regard  an  anarchist  in  these  opening  days  of  the 
twentieth  century.  [Ministers  of  the  gospel  in  the  aorth,  who  dared 
preach,  even  on  Thanksgiving  Day  or  on  a  fast  day,  against  the 
evils  of  slavery,  were  very  likely  to  create  divisions  in  the  church 
and  lose  financial  support,  and  were  therefore  in  danger  of  losing 
their  pastoral  charge.  Solemn  doctors  of  divinity  in  the  south, 
and  some  in  the  north,  preached  eh)quently  on  the  text:  "Cursed 
be  Canaan ;  a  ser\'ant  of  sefvants  shall  he  be  unto  his  brethren." 
Any  opposition  to  this  fugitive  slave  law  was  regarded  as  a  viola- 


100  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

tion  of  Paul's  injunction  to  "obey  the  powers  that  be."  The  slave 
was  told  to  follow  the  example  of  Onesimus  and  return  to  his  mas- 
ter. Any  assertion  of  "a  higher  law  than  the  constitution"  was 
regarded  as  next  to  high  treason  against  the  government  of  the 
United  States.  The  letter  of  the  constitution  was  worshiped  as  an 
idol,  while  the  spirit  of  it  was  disregarded  when  dealing  with  slav- 
ery. You  may  think  in  reading  this,  that, we  were  in  those  days  a 
set  of  heathens ;  but  I  beg  to  remind  you  that  we  were  no  worse, 
taking  into  consideration  our  environment,  than  the  people  of  any 
other  decade  have  been  since  that  day. 

Disregarding  party  names,  there  were  three  leading  phases  of 
thought,  and  the  masses  swung  backward  and  forward  to  one 
or  the  other  of  the  three.  First  there  was  the  abolitionist,  who 
believed  that  slavery  was  wrong,  a  violation  of  fundamental  human 
rights,  utterly  at  variance  with  the  declaration  of  independence  and 
the  spirit  of  the  constitution.  These  demanded  its  immediate  abo- 
lition, as  in  utter  violation  of  the  laws  of  God  and  the  fundamental 
principles  of  just  government.  There  was  another  class,  who  be- 
lieved that  slavery  was  right,  a  patriarchal  institution  in  the  main 
beneficial  to  both  master  and  slave ;  and  that  the  slave,  if  a  human 
being  at  all — which  some  questioned — was  happiest  in  a  state  of 
servitude.  There  was  a  third  class  who,  while  regarding  the  doc- 
trine of  squatter  sovereignty  as  a  violation  of  a  sacred  compact 
(the  INIissouri  compromise)  intended  to  be  perpetual,  regarded  the 
fugitive  slave  law  as  a  law,  and  held  that  while  it  was  a  law  it 
should  be  obeyed.  They  believed  that  this  law  was  utterly  wrong, 
and  could  not  stand  the  test  of  time,  nor  even  of  the  courts.  They 
were  not  willing  to  abolish  slavery  at  once,  but  believed  that  event- 
ually the  nation  could  not  be  half  slave  and  half  free,  but  must  be 
one  thing  or  the  other. 

The  great  leader  of  this  last  class  was  Abraham  Lincoln,  altho 
in  1856  he  was  just  beginning  to  appear  as  a  great,  potent  moral 
and  political  force,  looming  above  the  horizon  in  the  west. 

It  is  no  wonder  then  that  during  this  third  year  at  college,  the 
questions  discussed  in  the  debating  and  literary  societies  and  else- 
where were  such  as  these:  Is  the  fugitive  slave  law  constitutional.'' 
If  constitutional,  should  it  be  obeA^ed?  Is  the  Dred  Scott  decision 
binding  on  the  Christian?  Is  there  a  higher  law  than  the  consti- 
tution? Should  slavery  be  abolished?  and  so  on.  It  was  often  diffi- 
cult in  the  societies  to  find  students  who  would  take  the  unpopular 
side  in  these  debates.  Somebody  was  obliged  to  do  so;  and  some- 
of  us  learned  in  these  discussions  the  tremendous  handicap  under 
which  a  man  works  when  he  has  to  defend  for  the  time  being  some- 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  101 

thing  in  which  he  does  not  really  believe.  It  compelled  us,  how- 
ever, to  study  carefully  what  could  be  said  on  the  other  side — not 
bad  training  for  a  college  student. 

It  was  while  the  public  mind  was  seething  with  questions  like 
these  that  the  Republican  party,  which  governed  the  country  from 
Buchanan's  administration  until  the  two  terms  of  Grover  ClevchuuJ, 
first  became  a  national  organization.  Its  first  candidate  was 
John  C.  Fremont.  I  lacked  six  months  of  being  old  enough  to 
vote,  and  hence  took  less  interest  than  1  might  otherwise  have  taken 
— but,  for  some  reason,  his  candidacy  did  not  appeal  to  me  nor  to 
my  fellow  students,  probably  for  the  following  reasons :  He  was 
born  in  the  south,  Charlestown,  South  Carolina.  He  had  not  been 
identified  with  the  anti-slavery  movement,  in  which  we  were  so 
deeply  interested.  His  career  had  been  as  an  officer  in  the  navy, 
afterwards  an  explorer.  Too  much  was  said  in  the  campaign  about 
his  wife,  Jessie  Benton,  a  daughter  of  old  Sam  Benton,  a  noted 
anti-slavery  leader,  as  if  his  anti-slavery  principles  might  have 
been  absorbed  from  association  with  her.  I  do  not  remember  a 
single  political  speech  in  that  campaign,  tho  I  do  remember  quite 
clearly  some  of  the  campaign  songs.  Fremont  polled  a  large  vote, 
however — 114  electoral  votes  to  174  for  Buchanan;  and  had  the 
newly-formed  Republican  party  pacified  the  old  Whig  element  by 
the  promise  of  a  protective  tariff,  their  candidate  might  have  been 
elected.  The  hour  had  not  yet  come  for  the  revolution  that  was 
to  follow.  It  takes  more  than  one  campaign  to  absorb  a  party 
that  has  control  of  congress,  of  the  executive,  of  the  supreme  court, 
and  of  the  postoffices. 


At  Jefferson  College 

I   SPENT  the  last  part  of  June,  July  and  a  large  part  of  August 
working  on  the  farm  at  home,  and  in  the  fall  started  for  Jef- 
ferson College,  about  thirty  miles  distant.     Arriving  at  Pitts- 
burgh on  the  way  there,  I  was  met  at  the  station  by  my  uncle.     He 
was   pale   and   evidently   greatly   agitated,   altho   he   was   a   very 
strong,  resolute  and  level-headed  man.     I  said: 
"Uncle,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"The  matter!"  says  he.  "The  Ohio  Life  and  Trust  Company 
has  failed !" 

I  could  not  then  understand  why  the  failure  of  any  life  and 
trust  company  should  agitate  him  so  deeply,  but  was  soon  to  learn. 
This  was  the  beginning  of  the  great  panic  of  '57,  which  swept  over 
the  entire  country,  and  from  which  it  had  scarcely  recovered  at 
the  beginning  of  the  Civil  War.  Like  all  other  panics,  it  was 
caused  by  over-expansion,  largely  in  speculation  in  land,  railroad 
stocks  and  in  business :  and  this  expansion  was  possible  with  the 
miserable  system  of  state  banks,  especially  those  of  the  west,  that 
were  under  no  adequate  supervision.  There  was  at  that  time  no 
national  bank  system.  Any  number  of  men  who  pleased  might 
start  a  bank  and  issue  currency,  which,  in  Iowa,  Indiana  and  Illi- 
nois, went  under  the  names  of  "wild-cat,"  "stump-tail,"  "red-dog," 
etc.  It  was  scarcely  safe  to  keep  the  paper  currency  of  these 
western  banks  over  night. 

This  same  uncle  of  mine,  when  in  Chicago  at  one  time,  had  a 
lot  of  this  mone3\  He  did  not  think  it  safe  to  take  it  home,  so  he 
invested  it  in  tickets  on  the  Pittsburgh,  Fort  Wayne  and  Chicago 
Railroad.  As  his  business  with  the  railroad  grew,  they  gave  hira 
an  annual  pass,  and  years  afterwards,  when  I  was  located  at  Rock 
Island,  he  turned  tlie  tickets  over  to  me,  asking  me,  with  my  wife, 
to  ride  them  out  in  coming  to  visit  him  in  Pittsburgh.  I  mention 
this  to  show  the  improvement  that  has  been  made  in  the  banking  i 
system,  altho  much  improvement  is  still  needed  In  order  to  prevent  i 
the  recurrence  of  similar  panics.  ; 


Uncle   Ilenry's  Own   Story 


103 


In  those  days  you  could  walk  from  Pittsburgh  to  Canonsburg, 
or  you  could  go  horseback  or  in  a  carriage,  or  take  the  stage, 
which  left  Monongahela  City  in  the  morning.  Nowadays  you  can 
go  by  rail  or  by  trolley  car  almost  any  hour  in  the  day  oV  night. 
As  these  roads  follow  the  streams,  you  miss  the  splendid  views 
over  the  beautiful,  rolling,  fairly  well  wooded  country  which  the 
stage  route  on  the  turnpike  disclosed  from  the  high  points.     This 

county  is  now  densely  popu- 
lated— a  great  coal-produc- 
ing, oil-producing  and  manu- 
facturing district.  The  pop- 
ulation was  then  almost  en- 
tirely rural,  and  its  main 
products  were  sheep,  barley 
and  Presbyterians.  The  sheep 
were  of  the  old-fashioned, 
wrinkled,  merino  type  ;  small, 
poor  in  mutton  quality,  with 
a  skin  so  wrinkled  that  it  was 
almost  large  enough  to  cover 
two  sheep  of  its  size  and 
weight.  The  wool  was  fine 
and  dense,  and  Washington 
county  had  a  reputation  for 
fine  wool  over  the  entire 
country.  Farmers  in  West- 
moreland county  could  not 
get  v.ithin  a  cent  or  two  of 
the  prices  that  were  paid  for 
Washington  county  wool,  even  if  they  bought  the  sheep  there 
and  had  just  moved  them  over  the  county  line.  Then,  as  now, 
a  comnmnity  that  co-operates  in  the  production  of  any  one  thing, 
and  produces  an  article  of  superior  quality,  can  get  a  price  in 
advance  even  of  the  actual  value. 

I  do  not  know  why  they  produced  barley  to  such  an  extent, 
unless  the  farmers,  being  a  long  distance  from  the  railroad,  could 
put  into  a  wagon  more  money's  worth  of  barley  than  of  corn. 
Nowadays,  we  hear  nothing  in  that  county  of  barley  nor  of  sheep; 
for  there  are  too  many  miners  and  too  many  dogs.  Thus  do 
transportation  facilities  and  the  development  of  manufacturing 
industries  change  the  course  of  agriculture. 

The  county  raised  some  Presbyterians  because  it  was  stocked 
with  Presbyterians  from  the  start  and  could  not  help  it. 


Ilenry  Wallace  When  a  Student  at  Jefferson  College 


104  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

Canonsburg,  in  1857,  was  but  a  village,  with  a  population  of 
say  a  thousand,  whether  more  or  less  I  really  do  not  know.  The 
turnpike  running  thru  Pittsburgh  to  Washington  was  the  one 
principal  street.  Another  at  right  angles  to  it  climbed  "Sheep 
Hill,"  on  which  the  college  buildings  were  located,  which  now  house 
Jefferson  Academy,  the  remains  of  the  college.  Insignificant 
buildings  they  would  seem  to  you,  if  compared  with  the  high  schools 
in  Des  Moines  or  any  similar  city.  On  this  street  was  located 
Olome  Institute,  a  seminary  for  young  ladies,  or  "Seminoles,"  as 
we  called  them ;  for  this  was  before  the  days  of  co-education.  The 
boys  might  call  one  cAcning  in  the  week,  within  certain  hours,  and 
hold  discreet  communion  with  a  fair  damsel  under  proper  super- 
vision. On  the  turnpike  was  a  building  that  had  once  been  the 
Theological  Seminary  of  the  Associate,  now  the  United  Presby- 
terian Church ;  and  on  the  parallel  street  nearly  opposite  the  sem- 
inary was  a  boarding-house  which  we  called  "Fort  Job."  There 
were  no  dormitories  or  boarding-houses  belonging  to  the  college  or 
to  the  fraternities.  The  students  engaged  rooms  with  board  or 
■without,  and,  if  without,  took  their  meals  with  old  Mother  Hunt, 
costing,  as  I  recollect  it,  $2.25  a  week. 

Jefferson  College  was  one  of  the  early  colleges  of  the  then  west, 
founded  in  1802,  largely  thru  the  influence  of  one  Doctor  McMil- 
lan, a  graduate  of  Princeton,  which  again  had  its  foundation  or 
beginning  in  the  famous  "Log  College"  of  Bucks  County,  Penn- 
sylvania. The  settlers  of  AVashington  county,  in  which  the  college 
was  located,  were  for  the  most  part  Scotch  and  Scotch-Irish  Pres- 
byterians, who  had  always  taken  their  church  and  their  schools 
with  them,  w  hether  they  pioneered  in  the  forest  or  on  the  prairie ; 
and  who  also  took  up  arms  against  the  federal  government  because 
it  levied  a  small  tax  on  the  product,  of  the  distillery.  Their  ances- 
tors before  them  took  up  arms  against  Charles  II  because  he  levied 
a  tax  of  six-pence  a  barrel  on  beer.  The  transformation  of  their 
descendants  into  a  race  of  prohibitionists,  with  scarcely  an  excep- 
tion, is  one  of  the  most  striking  evidences  of  the  progress  of  moral 
reforms.  Jefferson  College  was  therefore  predestined,  to  use  Pres- 
byterian theologica.l  language,  to  be  a  school  controlled  by  Presby- 
terian influence  and  attended  largely  by  students  with  Presby- 
terian ideas  and  leanings,  I  mention  this  because  the  moral  in- 
fluences behind  a  college  are  quite  as  important  as  the  course  of 
study,  or  what  is  known  as  the  curriculum.  It  is  never  safe  to 
educate  a  boy  intellectually  in  advance  of  his  moral  education. 
To  have  dispensed  with  chapel  services,  as  has  recently  been  done 
in  a  Avestern  university,  because  only  a  fraction  of  the  students 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  105 

attended,  is  something  that  never  would  have  been  thought  of  in 
Jefferson.  The  students  were  all  expected  to  attend  chapel  and  to 
take  their  seats  by  classes  in  the  allotted  parts  of  the  hall. 

Unfortunately,  these  good  old  Presbyterian  folks  made  the 
mistake  of  establishing  a  rival  school  called  "Washington,"  only  a 
few  miles  distant — about  four  years  later  (1806) — two  colleges 
where  but  one  was  needed.  Their  descendants,  singularly  enough, 
have  ever  since  often  made  the  mistake  of  establishing  two  rival 
churches  where  there  is  need  of  but  one.  Fortunately,  the  two 
colleges  have  since  been  united  under  the  name  of  "Washington 
and  Jefferson,"  and  it  is  one  of  the  very  best  of  the  smaller  colleges 
in  the  United  States. 

As  this  was  before  the  application  of  science  to  manufacturing, 
which  has  crowded  men  into  cities,  and  before  the  extension  of  rail- 
roads and  the  opening  up  of  the  great  trans-Mississippi  country 
had  rendered  it  possible  to  feed  them  cheaply,  the  population  of 
the  count}'  was  almost  wholh'  rural,  and  the  students  were  mostly 
from  the  farms,  and  from  the  farming  sections  where  Presbyte- 
rians predominated- — mostly  from  Pennsylvania,  Ohio,  Indiana, 
Illinois,  what  is  now  West  \'irginia,  Kentucky  and  Tennessee.  The 
southern  element  was  very  considerable,  probably  because  at  that 
time  there  was  no  Presb3terian  college  of  equal  standing  in  the 
South.  The  ages  of  the  graduates  ranged  from  twenty  to  thirty, 
sometimes  to  thirty-two.  The  high  standing  of  the  college  may 
be  seen  from  the  fact  that  the  classes  grew  in  numbers  from  fresh- 
man to  senior,  the  freshman  class  averaging  about  thirty,  while 
the  senic^r  classes  reached  from  fifty  to  seventy  and  over. 

The  college  course  would  be  regarded  as  meager  nowadays, 
and  appliances  still  more  so.  Latin  from  Caesar  thru  Sallust, 
Virgil,  Cicero's  Orations,  Horace  or  Ovid ;  Greek  from  Xenophon's 
^Memorabilia,  Homer,  Sophocles,  Aeschylus ;  mathematics  from 
geometry  up  to  calculus,  logarithms,  etc.  (Really,  I  have  forgot- 
ten all  about  them,  even  the  names  i);  natural  science,  three  big 
volumes  by  Dr.  Dionysius  Lardner,  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin, 
Ireland.  In  one  of  them  he  proved  to  his  own  entire  satisfaction 
that  it  was  impossible  to  cross  the  Atlantic  by  steamship,  because 
no  vessel  could  possibly  carry  enough  coal  for  the  voyage.  '  To  his 
confusion,  the  first  invoice  of  his  books  for  use  in  an  American 
college  came  over  in  a  steamship,  and  so  we  dubbed  him  "Doctor 
Dionysius  Gander."  All  this  with  no  apparatus  worth  mention- 
ing, and  chemistry  ditto.  Then  Ave  had  in  the  senior  year,  logic, 
metaphysics,  ethics,  science  of  government,  constitution  of  the 
United  States,  Butler's  Analogy,  etc.,  for  which  no  apparatus  was 


106  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

necessary  except  a  sound  bodj^  and  a  clear  head.  It  can  readily 
be  seen  that  Jefferson  College  was  not  fitted  especially  to  educate 
farmers  or  scientists  or  engineers  or  pedagogs ;  but  to  lay  the 
foundation  for  the  future  stud}^  of  any  of  these  branches  of  human 
endeavor,  as  well  as  for  law  and  medicine,  but  more  especially 
theology.  It  pointed  the  student  to  mental  and  moral  achievement 
rather  than  the  conquest  of  natural  forces  or  the  amassing  of 
material  things. 

There  were  in  Jefferson  College  at  the  time  of  which  I  write  no 
games  or  sports,  no  baseball  nor  football,  with  their  factions  and 
leaders,  nor  athletic  contests  with  other  colleges,  involving  large 
expense  of  time  and  money.  I  do  not  even  remember  if  we  had  a 
college  yell.  If  we  did,  I  have  forgotten  it.  There  was  no  hazing, 
no  "scraps"  between  sophomores  and  freshmen.  In  short,  we  were 
gentlemen,  coming  mainly  from  farm  homes  where  money  was  none 
too  plentiful,  and  with  the  sincere  and  earnest  purpose  of  fitting 
ourselves  for  the  serious  business  of  life. 


A  somewhat  striking  event  of  these  years,  but  which  affected 
the  students  only  in  a  financial  way,  however,  was  the  great  frost 
or  freeze  which  occurred  on  the  night  of  the  Fourth  of  July.  On 
the  morning  of  the  fifth,  the  ground  was  frozen  about  as  it  would 
be  at  the  time  of  the  first  snow.  The  season  had  been  a  very  early 
one.  The  corn  on  my  father's  place  was  knee-high ;  he  was  culti- 
vating it  the  third  time.  Wheat  was  in  blossom.  Over  the  whole 
country  from  the  Allegheny  mountains  to  western  Ohio,  the  frost 
killed  all  the  corn  and  all  the  wheat.  My  brother  and  I  cut  all  the 
wheat  on  twelve  acres  of  land  between  noon  and  three  o'clock.  This 
was  a  small  patch  that  was  protected  by  a  grove  of  trees. 

I  was  boarding  at  Mother  Hunt's.  She  had  given  us  rhubarb 
sauce  for  breakfast,  rhubarb  pie  for  dinner,  and  rhubarb  sauce  for 
supper;  and  the  boys  all  rejoiced  that  Sabbath  morning  because 
they  knew  the  frost  had  killed  all  the  rhubarb !  When  the  leaves 
began  to  fall  from  the  trees,  however,  and  the  sky  assumed  the  ap- 
pearance of  Indian  summer,  when  the  people  all  over  that  section 
began  to  dread  famine,  and  many  merchants  put  up  the  price  of 
flour  from  $5  a  barrel  to  $10,  we  began  to  wonder  as  to  the  cer- 
tainty of  our  remittances.  Fortunately,  railroads  had  reached 
the  wheat  fields  of  Indiana ;  and  tho  there  was  great  loss,  the  coun- 
try recovered.  There  were  more  buckwheat  cakes  eaten  that  win- 
ter than  ever  before  or  since,  I  am  sure ;  for  farmers,  finding  their 
crops  a  failure,  bought  every  bushel  of  buckwheat  they  could.     In 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  107 

fact,  some  men  were  smart  enough  to  go  directly  where  seed  could 
be  purchased,  and  to  sow  a  large  acreage,  and  made  more  money 
than  they  would  have  made  from  their  other  crops.  The  man  who 
knows  how  to  take  advantage  of  adversity  and  convert  it  into  pros- 
perity will  succeed  anywhere. 


I 


I 


Jefferson  College — The  Professors 

THE  two  main  and  essential  things  about  any  college  are  the 
students,  which  are  the  raw  material,  and  the  professors, 
who  are  to  shape  and  mold  that  raw  material.  Someone  has 
defined  a  college  as  a  great  teacher  like  Horace  Mann,  for  example, 
on  one  end  of  a  log,  and  a  bright  student  on  the  other.  The  build- 
ing and  equipment,  however  important  they  may  be,  are  yet  but 
incidental  to  the  main  business  of  the  college,  the  development  of 
the  intellect  and  the  character  of  the  student. 

In  my  last  letter,  I  have  described  in  broad,  general  terms  the 
students  of  the  Jefferson  of  my  day.  I  will  now  try  to  describe 
the  professors.  Unlike  the  conditions  now  prevailing  in  the  mod- 
ern large  college  or  university,  our  students  came  in  direct  per- 
sonal contact  with  the  president  and  the  professors.  There  were 
no  assistant  professors  or  tutors  or  student  professors.  Every 
professor  taught  every  day.  They  were  few  in  number,  as  com- 
pared with  the  modern  college.  I  came  in  direct  personal  contact 
with  but  five  during  the  junior  and  senior  years.  There  were  one 
or  two  more  in  the  lower  classes  whom  I  knew  but  slightly.  These 
professors  knew  every  member  of  their  classes  personally;  knew 
their  habits  of  thought  and  of  life,  their  personal  peculiarities  and 
idiosyncrasies,  and  took  a  deep  personal  interest  in  each  one  of 
them. 

First  let  me  introduce  you  to  the  president.  Doctor  Joseph 
Alden — "Old  Joe"  we  sometimes  called  him  in  his  absence — an 
eastern  man,  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  celebrated  Alden  of  the 
Mayflower ;  a  little  over  medium  height  and  weight ;  neat  in  dress ; 
a  man  of  the  highest  and  most  finished  culture,  with  a  thin  upper 
lip  and  a  pronounced  under-jaw,  which,  when  occasion  required, 
would  come  up  w  ith  a  snap.  There  was  no  nonsense  about  Doctor 
Alden,  no  fooling  when  we  came  into  his  classes.  You  realized 
very  soon  that  you  were  there  for  business.  He  tolerated  no  slip- 
shod methods  of  study,  nor  foggy  thinking.     Whether  in  meta- 


Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story  109 

physics  or  political  economy,  or  anything  else  in  his  department, 
you  were  expected  to  know  not  merely  what  was  in  the  text-book, 
but  the  subject  itself.  If  we  were  studying  Foster's  Essay  on 
Decision  of  Character  (a  book  well  worth  the  reading  of  every 
student),  or  Butler's  Analogy,  everyone  was  expected  to  know  the 
whole  lesson  and  take  up  the  subject  where  his  predecessor  in  reci- 
tation left  off,  and  that  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  We  had  to 
know  the  whole  lesson,  or  we  could  not  safely  undertake  to  recite 
any  part  of  it. 

I  owe  him  a  great  deal  for  one  lesson.  He  asked  me  to  come 
to  his  office,  and  began  in  a  quick,  earnest  way,  something  as 
follows :  Wallace,  there  are  some  men  who  can  think  and  can  not 
talk;  and  there  are  other  men  who  can  talk  but  can  not  think.  I 
want  you  to  learn  how  to  do  both.  Here  is  a  subject  (I  have  for- 
gotten what  it  w^as)  :  come  to  me  in  two  weeks  with  six  definite 
statements  bearing  upon  that  subject,  in  logical  order.  You  must 
promise  me  not  to  write  a  line  or  make  a  note,  but  have  every  point 
definitely  thought  out  and  every  word  definitely  in  your  mind,  pre- 
cisely as  you  intend  to  speak  it. 

I  remember  that  when  I  came  to  my  second  proposition,  he 
said :  "Wallace,  that's  not  logical ;  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
subject;  go  on  to  the  next."  It  was  a  very  severe  drill;  but  to 
this  day  I  do  not  feel  thoroly  comfortable  in  addressing  an  audi- 
ence unless  I  know  every  word  that  I  intend  to  say,  and  in  the 
proper  order,  for  the  first  five  minues,  and  have  the  rest  pretty 
well  in  mind.  I  find  by  experience  that  if  you  can  get  e7i  rapport 
"with  your  audience  in  the  first  five  minutes,  and  have  your  stakes 
well  set,  you  are  pretty  safe  for  the  rest  of  the  time. 

The  next  in  his  impress  on  me  was  Professor  Fraser,  "Johnny" 
Fraser  we  called  him  when  he  was  not  aroundi — a  Scotchman.  I 
think  he  was  an  old  bachelor,  altho  I  do  not  really  know.  He  was 
a  man  of  rather  small  stature,  and  of  most  excellent  humor.  He 
was  professor  of  mathematics  and  astronomy.  As  a  drill-master 
he  was  nowhere,  but  was  a  magnificent  teacher  for  about  fifteen 
or  twenty  of  the  best  mathematicians  in  the  class.  The  rest  of  us 
could  follow  him  only  at  a  distance.  Unlike  any  other  teacher  of 
mathematics  I  ever  saw,  he  did  nearly  all  the  work  on  the  black- 
board himself.  I  can  see  him  now,  with  a  coat  of  some  light  ma- 
terial, like  as  not  out  at  the  elbows  or  torn  at  the  shoulders,  stand- 
ing before  the  class,  discussing  and  expounding  a  proposition ; 
and,  if  the  least  occasion  offered,  drifting  off  into  poetry,  phi- 
losophy or  the  meaning  of  life,  until  we  stood  spellbound.  He  was 
magnificent  in  repartee,  and  if  any  of  the  boys  wanted  to  turn  a 


110  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

joke  on  the  professor,  they  were  not  likel}^  to  try  it  a  second  time. 
He  was  a  Avonderful  student  in  the  line  of  poetry,  philosophy, 
metaphysics,  the  whole  range  of  thought.  In  astronomy,  he  had 
a  theory  that  the  heat  of  the  sun  was  kept  up  by  the  constant  drop- 
ping into  it  of  small  planetary  bodies :  "Throwing  rocks  at  the 
sun  to  keep  it  warm,"  as  one  of  the  boys  put  it.  He  was  not 
sure  but  that  there  was  some  bit  of  real  science  back  of  the  super- 
stition about  the  control  of  the  moon  over  the  weather. 

He  liked  to  have  the  boys  come  to  his  room,  to  talk  with  them 
about  their  aims  and  future  life  work,  tell  them  the  real  meaning 
of  the  plays  of  Shakespeare.  The  Midsummer  Night's  Dream, 
as  I  remember  it,  was  descriptive  of  the  vagueness  and  elusiveness 
of  life.  In  fact,  I  think  he  believed  there  v/as  a  definite,  precise 
idea  underneath  each  play,  which  must  first  be  understood  thru  a 
thoro  study  of  the  play  itself,  until  we  got  the  fundamental  aim 
and  idea  of  the  author ;  and  then  the  play  must  be  further  studied 
for  the  purpose  of  showing  how  each  particular  passage  and  sec- 
tion illustrated  the  meaning  of  the  play. 

He  was  very  fond  of  talking  to  the  boys.  I  remember  one 
Sabbath  in  the  spring,  when  one  of  the  boj's  and  I  were  taking  a 
walk,  and  standing  on  the  bridge  over  Chartier's  creek.  The  in- 
sects were  beginning  to  crawl  out  from  between  the  boards ;  and 
the  professor  evidently  knew  what  most  of  us  knew,  that  the  young 
man  with  me  was  rather  "soft"  on  a  certain  young  lady.  Pointing 
to  the  insects,  he  said :  "So,  Mr.  Jones,  creep  out  young  desires." 
Once  he  read  one  of  Spurgeon's  sermons  (The  Great  Reservoir), 
to  indicate  the  methods  by  which  natural  objects  could  be  used  in 
marshaling  and  enforcing  religious  truth.  I  also  remember  an- 
other from  a  great  Scotch  preacher  of   that  date,  John  Caird. 

I  shall  never  forget  our  last  recitation.  It  was  an  eloquent 
appeal  to  the  highest  and  best  in  us,  if  we  would  get  the  full  mean- 
ing of  life;  and  he  was  evidently  showing  us  the  best  in  himself, 
as,  in  fact,  he  always  did.  The  bell  rang  for  closing,  but  he  talked 
a  couple  of  minutes  longer,  and  when  the  lesson  closed  there  was  a 
suspicious  moisture  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  students,  and  tears  in 
some  of  them.  When  the  door  opened,  there  stood  a  howling  mob 
of  fifty  or  sixty  juniors,  and,  as  we  passed  out,  they  said:  "Boo, 
hoo !  Big  seniors  crying !"  It  is  a  wonder  that  their  gibes  did  not 
start  trouble ;  but  we  paid  no  attention,  and  passed  down  the  stairs 
with  fitting  senior  dignity. 

Professor  Fraser  did  not  benefit  two-thirds  of  us  very  much 
in  the  line  of  mathematics ;  but  in  pointing  out  the  possibilities  of 
life,  the  methods  of  right  living,  and  in  presenting  to  us  a  noble 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  Hi 

ideal   of   Christian   character,  he  taught   us   something   far   more 
valuable  than  higher  mathematics. 

Our  professor  in  Latin  was  Aaron  Williams,  a  Presbyterian 
preacher.  ''Squills,"  we  called  him,  tho  why  I  never  knew.  He 
had  the  orthodox  Presbyterian  ministerial  face,  with  "mutton- 
chop"  whiskers,  chin  unduly  sharp,  wore  glasses ;  and  in  some  way 
could  detect  any  nervousness  on  the  part  of  any  student,  which  he 
evidently  regarded  as  an  indication  that  that  student  was  not  pre- 
pared, and  at  once  called  on  him.  He  was  a  regular  Gradgrind,  a 
drill-master  per  se,  and  every  sentence  must  be  translated  with 
absolute  accuracy.  The  construction  must  be  brought  out  fully, 
and  the  accent  and  pronunciation  must  be  perfect.  That  was  his 
standard.  Few  of  us  came  up  to  it ;  but  it  was  a  grand  thing  to 
have  the  ideal  before  us  every  lesson.  The  students  respected 
him,  valued  him  highly,  but  did  not  love  him.  He  was  not  a  lov- 
able man  like  "Johnny"  Fraser  or  even  Doctor  Alden. 

Our  professor  in  natural  science  was  a  Scotch-Irishman  named 
Jones,  who  had  a  great  deal  of  dry  humor.  I  do  not  remember 
whether  he  was  married  or  not.  Unljke  Professor  Williams,  he 
called  the  students  as  their  names  appeared  on  the  roll.  It  was 
but  a  short  time  before  he  found  out  the  names  of  the  good  stu- 
dents, and,  evidently  unconscious  to  himself,  he  called  their  names 
with  a  falling  accent,  and  paused  as  tho  he  expected  something 
from  them,  and  little  from  the  others  whom  he  passed  over  so 
lightly.  This  was  somewhat  annoying.  For  instance,  in  our  class 
he  would  read  until  he  came  to  Cowan,  and  then  he  would  go  on 
down  to  Guy,  from  Guy  to  ]\Ioderwell,  and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the 
list.  This  had  been  his  practice  with  all  of  his  previous  classes. 
In  the  second  class  before  ours  there  was  a  student  named  Brack 
Downs,  a  man  whose  face,  as  Sidney  Smith  used  to  say,  was  a 
"breach  of  the  peace."  He  spoke  with  an  inimitable  drawl  and  a 
drollness  of  manner  that  set  everybody  to  laughing.  The  pro- 
fessor was  asking  the  class  to  give  him  some  examples  of  the  use 
of  emery  powder.  After  he  had  passed  Downs  and  dropped  his 
voice  at  some  other  favorite  student.  Downs,  with  his  peculiar 
drollery  of  voice  and  manner,  said: 

"Professor !" 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Downs?" 

Of  course  the  class  knew  what  was  coming,  and  all  stamped, 
raising  all  the  dust  there  was  on  the  uncarpetcd  floor.  Downs 
gave  another  twist  or  two  in  his  chair,  and  said: 

"I  had  thought  of  answering  that  question,"  at  which  there 
was  more  stamping,  more  dust  and  more  laughter. 


h 


112  Uncle  Henry's  Own   Story 

"Well,  Mr.  Downs,  give  us  some  examples," 

Then,  after  waiting  the  proper  time,  and  making  his  usual 
grimaces,  Downs  replied: 

"Well,  professor,  there  might  be  a  great  many  examples 
given." 

More  fun  at  the  professor's  expense.  He  then  became  impa- 
tient, and  said: 

"Well,  Mr.  Downs,  give  us  some  examples." 

Then,  with  another  twist  in  his  chair,  and  with  his  peculiar   , 
drawl.  Downs  answered:  fl 

"I  don't  think  of  any  just  now." 

I  never  fully  appreciated  this  incident  until  I  had  Downs  make 
an  address  to  my  own  students,  two  years  after.  ■ 

"Quam  Proxime,"  as  we  called  him,  tho  I  do  not  know  how  the 
name  originated,  was  a  really  first-class  teacher,  with  a  great  deal 
of  dry  humor,  and  the  boys  were  very  fond  of  him.  During  my 
junior  or  senior  year  (I  forget  which),  two  murders  were  com- 
mitted, and  in  each  case  the  murderer  was  named  Jones,  one  being 
a  woman.  Both  were  to  ,be  executed  on  the  same  day,  one  at 
McKeesport,  on  the  east,  and  the  other  at  Washington,  on  the  west 
of  us.  The  boys  got  together  and  drew  up  a  petition  for  a  holiday 
on  the  Friday  on  which  the  executions  Avere  to  take  place.  Pro- 
fessor Jones  read  it  carefully,  and  said: 

"Why  do  you  ask  a  holiday  tomorrow.'"' 

The  leader  answered :  "To  show  our  respect  and  sympathy 
for  the  Jones  family." 

The  professor  took  it  very  good-naturedly,  but  we  did  not  get 
a  holiday. 

I  must  not  forget  Professor  Smith,  dear  old  "Uncle  Billy," 
professor  of  Greek.  He  was  an  old  man,  and  whether  his  name 
was  Schmidt  or  Smith,  whether  he  was  Pennsylvania  Dutch,  or 
Scotch,  or  Irish,  or  just  plain  American,  I  never  learned.  He  had 
a  very  peculiar  accent ;  but  whether  he  got  it  from  the  Pennsyl- 
vania Dutch  or  from  the  study  of  German,  or  the  English  of  some 
of  Dickens'  characters,  none  of  us  ever  knew.  He  was  a  man  of 
wonderful  kindness  of  heart  and  sympathy  for  the  boys  ;  but  he 
made  the  lessons  so  easy  for  us  that  we  really  did  not  have  much 
respect  for  his  teaching.  A  student  would  need  to  be  very  consci- 
entious to  study  his  Greek  very  closely  when  reciting  to  Professor 
Smith. 

He  called  on  us  to  translate  in  order ;  and,  as  there  were  fifty- 
seven  of  us,  we  translated  onl}'^  three  or  four  times  in  the  term,  and 
always  knew  when  our  turn  was  coming.     We  parsed  around  in 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  11;J 

order,  and  naturally  only  a  few  words  during  a  lesson,  I  was 
pretty  well  up  in  Greek,  having,  I  believe,  the  highest  standing  in 
the  class.  One  of  the  other  students,  Loge  Sample,  who  after- 
wards devoted  his  whole  life  and  fortune  to  preaching  the  gospel 
in  places  where  its  sound  had  never  been  heard,  in  the  mines  and 
in  the  camps  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  among  the  mountaineers 
in  Tennessee,  sat  next  to  me.  He  had  an  exceedingly  red  face, 
fiery  red  hair,  and  whiskers  and  a  mustache  a  shade  redder  than 
his  hair.  He  knew  nothing  about  Greek,  and  I  generally  helped 
him  thru  when  he  had  to  translate  or  parse;  but  one  day  I  was 
busy  with  something  else  when  the  professor  said : 

"Mr.  Sample,  you  may  parse  'tupto'." 

The  verb  "tupto,"  meaning  to  strike,  is  used  in  conjugating 
Greek  in  the  same  manner  as  "to  love"  is  in  English.  Sample 
looked  at  the  word  for  a  moment,  bit  his  mustache,  as  was  his  habit 
when  perplexed,  and  said: 

"Well,  it's  a  noun." 

Uncle  Billy  answered :    "Veil,  yes,  or,  rather,  it's  a  verb !" 

He  was  so  easy  with  the  boys  that  the  phrase,  "Veil,  yes,  or, 
rather,"  was  in  the  most  common  kind  of  use. 

We  took  a  good  many  liberties  with  the  dear  old  man,  but  one 
day  we  took  one  too  many.  A  paper  was  passed  around  the  class, 
agreeing  that  when  "Cratty"  Moderwell  dropped  his  book  on  the 
floor,  the  whole  class  was  to  rise  as  if  the  bell  had  rung  and  it  was 
time  for  dismissal.  We  all  rose  and  marched  toward  the  door; 
but  were  appalled  when  Uncle  Billy  turned  on  us  a  look  of  utter 
amazement,  astonishment  and  grief.  It  was  a  habit  with  him 
to  say:  "Gentlemen,  I  have  been  teaching  here  thirty-five  years, 
and  never  before  had  such  disorder."    But  this  day  he  said : 

"Gentlemen,  I  have  been  teaching  here  thirty-six  years,  and  I 
never  saw  anything  like  this  before." 

We  slunk  back  to  our  seats  like  whipped  pups,  but  had  a  more 
profound  respect  for  the  good  old  man  than  we  had  ever  enter- 
tained for  him  before;  for  we  realized  how  deeply  he  was  hurt. 
He  was  undoubtedly  a  fine  scholar,  but  a  poor  disciplinarian,  and 
had  been  retained  many  years  after  his  usefulness  as  a  teacher  had 
disappeared;  but,  none  the  less,  we  were  all  better  for  an  acquaint- 
ance with  the  good,  kind  old  man. 

I  hope  when  you  go  to  college,  you  will  have  the  opportunity  of 
getting  in  as  close  touch  with  the  really  big  men  of  your  school  as 
we  did  at  Jefferson.  For,  after  all,  much  of  the  education  of  life 
comes  from  getting  in  touch  with  men  who  are  doing  things  worth 
while  and  have  grown  great  in  the  doing  of  them. 


College  Societies  and  Fraternities 

IX  June  last  (1911),  I  invited  three  of  my  old  classmates  of  fifty- 
two  years  before,  one  who  graduated  in  1858,  and  another  a 

year  or  two  afterwards,  to  be  my  guests  for  a  week  at  my  home. 
Our  discussions  took  a  very  wide  range:  Stories  of  college  life, 
theology  (five  of  the  six  of  us  were  preachers),  personal  religious 
experience,  politics,  education,  manners  and  customs,  and  what 
not.  Among  other  things,  we  discussed  the  influence  that  the  par- 
ticular professors  had  in  molding  our  characters ;  and  they  all 
agreed  with  my  own  personal  views  as  expressed  in  my  last  letter. 
Then  we  discussed  the  particular  elements  of  the  education  that  we 
received.  We  practical]}^  agreed  that  the  best  thing  we  got  out  of 
our  college  life  was  personal  contact  with  the  professors ;  that  the 
next  best  was  the  training  we  received  in  the  literary  societies ;  and 
the  third  the  training  that  we  received  from  rubbing  up  against 
each  other,  on  the  campus,  in  the  classes,  and  in  the  fraternities. 
The  training  that  we  received  in  these  various  ways  meant  a  great 
deal.  Compared  with  this,  the  actual  information  we  acquired  in 
the  classes  was  a  negligible  quantit3\  We  have  long  since  for- 
gotten most  of  it,  but  the  effects  of  the  training  have  gone  with  us 
thru  life. 

Jefferson  College  attached  a  great  deal  of  importance  to  the 
literary  training  in  the  societies.  There  were  two  societies,  the 
Franklin  and  the  Philo.  Each  had  an  excellent  library.  Before 
the  fraternities  came  in,  these  were  practically  secret  societies. 
No  Philo  was  allowed  even  in  the  Franklin  library,  much  less  in 
the  hall,  and  no  "Frank"  in  the  Philo.  These  societies  held  a  con- 
test once  a  year.  They  selected,  after  careful  sifting  and  train- 
ing in  the  societies,  a  debater,  an  orator,  an  essayist,  and  a  de- 
claimer ;  and  the  persons  in  one  society  with  whom  those  chosen  in 
the  other  must  contend,  were  not  known  until  the  program  was 
given  out.  After  the  fraternities  came  in,  the  secrecy  was  in  them 
and  not  in  the  societies ;  and  great  was  the  political  wire-pulling 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 


115 


From  lefi  to  right— A.  T.  Askeny,  W.  P.  Johnston,  W.  D.  Pattos,  Hzm;v  w  allacb, 
■yv.  C.  Williamson,  Stkphkn  Phxlphs. 

Five  CoUese  Classmates  Who  Spent  a  Week  With  Henry  Wallace  at  HU  Home  is  Des  Moines 
During  the  Summer  of  1911. 

on  the  part  of  each  fraternity  in  order  to  secure  places  in  the  con- 
test of  the  year,  and  win  if  possible.  In  fact,  to  win  a  debate  in  a 
society  was  deemed  by  many  a  greater  honor  than  to  win  first 
honor  in  the  class.  I  was  a  Sigma  Chi,  and,  like  all  the  rest  of 
them,  worked  with  might  and  main  to  get  Sigma  Chis  on  the  con- 
test ;  whether  in  my  own  society  or  in  the  Philo  made  comparatively 
little  difference.  It  was  the  fraternity  that  was  striving  for  the 
honor. 

It  always  seemed  to  me  that  the  different  fraternities  made 
some  distmction  in  the  character  of  the  men  they  sought.  The 
Betas  aimed  to  secure  men  of  high  class  standing  and  of  high  liter- 
ary and  social  culture.  Their  numbers  were  less  than  those  of 
any  other  fraternity.  The  Phi  Phis  always  seemed  to  me  to  aim 
at  efficiency.  They  were  not  so  particular  about  literary  qualifi- 
cations nor  about  culture,  as  they  were  to  get  men  who  could  do 
whatever  they  wanted  to  do.  The  Deltas  chose  a  slightly  different 
type  of  meni^  but,  in  a  broad  way,  similar  to  the  Phi  Phis.     The 


116  Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story 

Sigma  Chis  laid  emphasis  on  high  moral  character  and  scholarship, 
while  the  ''Skull  and  Bones,"  mainly  from  the  south,  made  good 
fellowship  their  sine  qui  non.  Then  we  had  what  were  known  as 
the  Lops,  but  which  afterwards  organized  into  what  was  called  the 
Ouden  Adalon,  or  No-Secret  Secret  Society.  This,  however,  was 
after  my  time. 

Under  these  circumstances,  the  college  lurnished  admirable 
training  for  politics ;  for  in  each  fraternity  the  aim  was  to  make 
combinations  with  other  fraternities,  and  thus  secure  for  its  candi- 
date the  votes  of  as  many  Lops  as  possible.  In  the  "Lop  League," 
as  we  called  It,  that  Is,  men  who  did  not  join  any  of  the  fraternities, 
there  was  always  a  leader,  and  the  point,  of  course,  was  to  get  the 
influence  of  the  leader  for  our  candidates  or  combinations.  As  a 
lesult  of  my  experience  and  observation,  I  doubt  the  wisdom  of  the 
young  man  or  young  woman  In  joining  a  college  fraternity.  The 
fraternities  niay  be  the  means  of  great  good,  and  they  may  be  the 
means  of  great  evil.  It  all  depends  on  the  character  of  the  fra- 
ternity in  general  and  of  the  local  chapter  In  particular.  I  do  not 
wonder,  however,  that  young  people  join  them.  It  Is  not  very 
pleasant  to  be  regarded  as  a  "Lop."  It  Is  a  great  deal  more  pleas- 
ant to  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  select  few.  Even  in  the  best, 
liowevcr,  it  does  not  tend  to  promote  that  spirit  of  true  altruism, 
that  desire  to  benefit  men  as  men,  that  lies  at  the  base  of  every 
great  character.  If  a  student  has  the  ability,  and  will  get  down  to 
real  hard  work ;  If  his  manners  are  pleasant ;  If  he  is  well  bred — 
all  the  fraternities  will  want  him,  and  he  is  quite  as  strong  stand- 
ing outside  as  he  would  be  standing  inside.  I  do  not  think  the 
fraternities  are  of  much  value  In  after  life;  nor  do  I  think  there 
is  much  real  value  in  any  secret  association,  for  that  matter.  If  a 
man  or  woman  Is  of  the  right  sort,  he  Is  not  likely  to  need  the  help 
of  any  secret  association. 

I  regard  the  training  that  we  received  In  the  literary  societies 
as  of  the  highest  value.  We  there  measured  swords  with  each 
other,  and  realized  our  merits  and  demerits,  our  strength  and  our 
weaknesses.  Some  idea  of  the  character  of  the  topics  we  discussed 
may  be  learned  from  a  few  which  I  remember.  The  subject  for 
debate  In  the  contest  of  '59  v.as:  "Can  the  unconditioned  be  cog- 
nized or  defined?"  The  subject  chosen  by  one  of  the  orators  was : 
"Faith  and  reason;  their  claims  and  conflicts."  The  subject  of 
one  of  my  essays  was :  "Does  the  Essay  on  Man  prove  In  itself  that 
Pope  was  an  infidel?"  The  decision  on  an  oration  was  contested 
on  the  ground  that  the  winner  was  guilty  of  plagiarism,  and  a  trial 
followed.      It  was  claimed  that  the  oration  was  plagiarized  from  an 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  117 

essay  written  by  a  noted  English  author.  The  defendant  proved 
that  he  had  never  seen  the  essay,  and  never  even  knew  of  its  exist- 
ence. The  opening  sentence,  however,  was  practically  the  same  in 
the  oration  and  essay.  He  accounted  for  it  in  this  way :  He  was 
selected  to  fill  a  vacancy,  the  man  originally  chosen  having  been 
ill  for  weeks  with  typhoid  fever.  He  wrote  to  a  friend,  asking  for 
suggestions,  and  the  friend  suggested  this  subject,  and  gave  him 
the  opening  sentence  as  if  it  were  his  own.  Of  course  he  was  ac- 
quitted. 

It  is  the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  convict  a  man  of  plagiar- 
ism, even  if  guilty.  To  illustrate:  When  I  was  a  pastor  in  Daven- 
port, it  was  whispered  around  that  one  of  the  preachers  had  pla- 
giarized a  sermon  from  Horace  Bushnell.  One  day,  when  he  and 
I  were  out  hunting,  while  we  were  sitting  in  a  fence  corner  waiting 
for  a  flock  of  prairie  chickens  to  fly  over,  I  told  him  of  the  charge. 
He  was  greatly  surprised,  and  said  to  me: 
"You  have  Horace  Buslmell's  sermons.'"' 
^      I  said  I  had. 

"Then,"  he  said,  "when  the  ministerial  association  meets  next 
Monday  morning,  have  a  committee  appointed.  I  will  furnish  you 
with  the  text  of  my  sermon,  and  you  can  furnish  Horace  Bushnell's 
sermon.      I  will  abide  by  the  decision." 

I  found,  as  in  the  case  of  the  college  contest,  that  the  opening 
sentences  were  very  similar,  being  a  definition  of  the  difference 
between  joy  and  happiness,  a  definition  which  I  have  often  used 
myself,  and  I  confess  I  got  it  from  Bushnell.     You  remember  the 
lines  of  Kipling:  "When  'Omer  smote  his  bloomin'  lyre."     I  have 
I  forgotten  the  words,  but  the  point  of  it  all  is  that  Homer  borrowed 
;  from  those  who  went  before  him,  Virgil  from  Homer,  and  Shake- 
,  speare  from  Virgil,  and  we  have  all  been  borrowing  from  Shake- 
I  speare.     In  other  words,  there  is  no  patent  on  thoughts — the  pat- 
ent lying  only  in  the  particular  expression. 


The  Great  Revival  of  1858 

IT  surprised  me  very  much  when  I  went  to  Jefferson  to  find  that 
there  was  no  excitement  over  the  slave  question.    In  fact,  I  can 

not  remember  ever  hearing  it  discussed.  This  was  partly  be- 
cause there  was  no  election  then  pending,  partly  because  a  large 
percentage  of  the  students  were  from  the  south,  and  perhaps  an 
equal  number  of  northern  students  expecting  to  go  south  as  soon 
as  they  graduated.  Hence  that  subject,  great  as  was  its  impor- 
tance, was  tabooed. 

A  potent  influence  in  promoting  harmony  and  co-operation  be- 
tween the  students,  notwithstanding  the  difference  of  opinions  on 
public  questions,  was  the  revival  of  religion  that  swept  over  at 
least  that  entire  section  of  the  nation,  in  1858.  It  was  not  a  gotten- 
up  revival.  No  plans  nor  preparations  for  it  were  made  in  ad- 
vance. There  was  no  special  co-operation  of  the  churches ;  there 
were  no  professional  revivalists.  It  just  came,  like  the  wind  that 
"bloweth  where  it  will,  and  thou  hearest  the  voice  thereof,  but 
knowest  not  whence  it  cometh,  and  whither  it  goeth ;  so  is  every  one 
that  is  born  of  the  Spirit."  The  prayer-meetings  were  by  degrees 
better  attended,  the  churches  better  filled  on  the  Sabbaths  There 
was  a  new  note  in  the  sermon,  and  also  in  the  preaching.  The 
Bible  when  read  seemed  to  have  more  power  over  the  hearers.  One 
night  at  prayer-meeting,  the  leader  read  a  chapter  from  one  of 
Paul's  epistles.  Walter  Forsj'th,  a  freshman,  arose  in  prayer, 
beginning  with  deep  emotion :  "O  Lord,  we  thank  Thee  for  such  a 
man  as  Paul,"  and  the  whole  audience  was  thrilled.  One  of  the 
most  profane  students  at  the  college  was  heard  praying  in  agony 
aloud  in  his  room,  and  a  student  in  an  adjoining  room  sai'd:  "L.  is 
having  a  hard  time  of  it." 

The  only  special  aid  in  the  way  of  preaching,  so  far  as  I  can 
remember,  was  Doctor  Plummer,  of  the  Theological  Seminary  at 
Allegheny,  now  North  Pittsburgh.  He  was  not  a  popular  man — • 
was  suspected  of  southern  leanings ;  was  rather  tall  and  quite  old, 


Uncle  Henry's  Own  Story  119 

as  age  went  in  those  days — I  imagine  somewhere  around  seventy — 
and  quite  venerable  in  appearance,  wearing  a  long,  gray  beard. 
His  sermons,  however,  were  most  effective.  One  of  the  members 
of  our  class,  who  apparently  was  not  affected  by  the  revival  at  the 
time,  but  afterwards  became  a  Christian,  told  me  more  than  fifty 
years  afterward  that  he  had  never  forgotten  Doctor  Plummer's 
sermon  on  the  passage,  "Remember  now  thy  Creator  in  the  days  of 
thy  youth,  before  the  evil  days  come,  and  the  years  draw  nigh 
when  thou  shalt  say,  I  have  no  pleasure  in  them." 

One  small  group  held  a  prayer-meeting  all  night.  One  of  the 
scoffers  said:  "Get  that  fact  mentioned  in  the  Pittsburgh  papers.'^ 
Ther-e  were  no  bad  after-results  from  this  revival,  so  far  as  I  ever 
knew.  Many  of  the  students  were  converted.  The  most  profane 
man  in  the  college  entered  the  ministry,  and  has  spent  his  life  and 
property  preaching  in  mining  camps  and  other  spiritually  desti- 
tute places,  always  paying  his  own  way.  Others  went  as  mission- 
aries to  the  heathen,  and  others  became  ministers. 

There  were  two  churches  just  outside  the  town — an  Associate 
or  Seccder  church  on  the  hill  to  the  west,  and  a  T^nion  church  on 
the  creek  just  east.  These  two  denominations  had  been  debating 
with  each  other  for  half  a  century,  trying  to  find  out  why  they 
stood  apart.  Thru  the  influence  of  this  revival,  these  were  welded 
together  all  over  the  country,  and  formed  the  United  Presbyterian 
church.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  this  revival  was  a  baptism 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  to  prepare  our  country  for  the  baptism  of  blood 
that  came  so  soon  afterward. 


(End  of  Volume  I) 


I 


Illllllllllll  II II  I II  II I  1 1  1 1 

3  1205  02529  5146 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FA( 


D    000  974  260    2 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


Series  9482 


